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WILLIAM PEXN, "THE QUAKER SOLDIER." 

From Line Ftir/rnriuy hy S. A. Srhoff, in possession of The Historical 

•Soriffy of Pennsylvania. 



Quaint Corners 
In Philadelphia 



WITH ONE hundred AND 
SEVENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRA- 
TIONS. By JOSEPH PENNELL 
AJMD OTHERS ^ ^ ^ ^ 






JOHN WANAMAKER 

PHILADELPHIA NEW YORK 






(uiiyiiglit, lS'>n. by Our CONTINENT Publishing Company. 



Copyright, isw, ])y David McKay, 
1^ ^Vr«. ^-OS 



PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION. 



When this book was first issued, in 1883, it trave a 
faithful presentation of the Philadelphia uf that da^'. 
But cities, like human faces, lay aside their old features, 
and Philadelphia forms no exception. The "Quaint 
Corners" remain much as they were, but corners less 
quaint and newer are constantly being added. We 
would not, in justice to impartial truth, remove the old. 
The past must always be left to form the background of 
the present. Idealities do not change, and the essentials 
are immortal. Much of this volume is purely historic. 
It is a gallery in whose <juaint corners are hung the 
faded pictures of the generations that laid the foumla- 
tions of the " Sylvan City. " But we would not ignore the 
fact that there is a revised and enlarged Philadelphia — 
a new edition that demands our notice. Perhaps no 
American city, within sixteen years, has undergone 
a greater change. The old conventional Philadelphia 
house will soon be a reminiscence. Philadelphia con- 
tinues to be distinctively, as we hope it ever may, 
the "City of Homes;" but those homes, hke their in- 
habitants, have their own individual existence. The 
same magic wand that has touched the dwelling has also 
transformed the markets and the business centres. The 
concentration of trade has made the high building a 

V 



PREFACE. 



necessity. Where once twenty buildings stood side by 
side, now they are constructed one upon the other. 
Business is conducted in tlie air and eonmierct' goes on 
among the clouds. The railway engine no longer halts 
on the outskirts of the city, but is driven close to our 
very doors. No one arrives at Philadelphia ; he arrives 
in it, and, passing through a depot-palace, steps upon 
streets smooth as a floor of asphalt. Philadelphia is 
justly proud of its streets. The old cobble-stone is fast 
becoming a recollection, and, with two hundred and fifty 
miles of asphalt, it is, perhaps, the best-paved city in 
the world. In addition to this, there is an electric rail- 
way system which is unexcelled by any other city. The 
suburbs have been beautified beyond description, and 
localities once inaccessible now contain some of the most 
attractive homes. 

The public institutions have grown in response to the 
demands of a new and better age. In our first edition 
we found it necessary to say that, with the exception of 
the ]Mercantile, we had no library where all the depart- 
ments of literature were represented. That statement, 
true then, would be misleading and false to-day. The 
same old honored institutions that jierpetuate the names 
of Logan, Franklin and Rush still abide, like so many 
benedictions, among the people. But, in addition to 
these, Philadelphia has the largest active circulating 
library in the world. The growth of this educational 
feature seems like the work of magic. By a will executed 
November oO, 1889, the late Geo. S. Pepper, Esquire, 



PREFACE. 



left the sum of $250,000 as a nucleus for the purpose of 
establishing a Free Library in the City of Philadelphia. 
Two years subsequent Councils appropriated $15,000 to 
the Board of Education, who were asked to inaugurate 
the system according to their own judgment. The Board 
of Trustees of the Wagner Free Institute of Science, 
located at Seventeenth Street and Montgomery Avenue, 
kindly offered a part of their building for library pur- 
poses. This was opened to the public in October, 1892, 
as Branch No. 1 of the Free Library of Philadelphia. 
The following year an additional sum of $25,000 was 
appropriated by Councils to develop the work in another 
part of the city. Other appropriations followed, until 
to-day there are, in addition to the Central Library, at 
1221 Chestnut Street, no less than twelve branches in 
active operation. Last j^ear's report shows a distribution 
of 1,738,950 volumes, which makes this the largest cir- 
culation of any library in the world. This in no sense 
includes the countless number of references, but the 
books actually taken to the readers' homes. What is 
known as the "free shelf" S3^stem has been in operation 
from the first. Any one without card or introduction is 
at perfect liberty to consult one or all of the thousands 
of volumes upon the shelves. To this one fact, more, 
possibly, than any other, maybe attributed the library's 
wonderful success. 

One unique feature about this library is a special de- 
partment for the blind. This contains over two thousand 
volumes, and is accessible to the sightless, without dis- 



PREFACE. 



tinction of sex, race or color. The future of the library 
promises to far outdo the past. The city is about to 
erect a magnificent central bniMin^', and the Widener 
mansion at Girard Avenue and Broad Street, with its 
rare b(K)ks and special paintings, in all valued at one 
million dollars, has been donated as an additional Branch. 

The system of public education has als(j advanced ma- 
terially over the one in practice at the time of our first 
edition. Then the industrial school was a theory yet to 
be ado|)ted ; now it forms an imj)ortant ])art of public in- 
struction. Philadelphia employs a force of 3471 teachers 
and 730 substitutes. There are 529 schools, with an at- 
tendance of 145,302 pupils. The amount expended last 
year for teachers' salaries was $2,397,720.39, of which 
those in the higher schools received an average of $1350 
and those in the lower $650. 

The night schools have become a part of the public 
system. The courses range from astronomy to cooking, 
from mechanics to a sewing-needle. 

The Public Buildings, under proec.'^s fifteen years ago, 
arc mainly completed. The City Ilall in its ai)point- 
mcnts rivals many of the j)ala('cs of the Old World, and 
the Post Ofiice ranks among the most stately in the 
country. Tiie Normal School for teachers, noticed in our 
first edition, and the dirls' High School, together with 
that of the Boys' High School, now building, will form a 
trinity of colleges of which tie '* Sylvan City " may well 
b«> proud. 

i'hilKdclphians arc not wanting in those finer sonti- 



PREFACE. ix 

ments that enter into tlie characters of the appreciative 
and the grateful. As an earnest of this, within the life 
of this book bronze statues of her three greatest bene- 
factors have been added to the attractions of the city. 
Stephen Grirard stands under the shadow of the City 
Hall ; Franklin sits on the very spot where, tradition says, 
he drew the lightning from the clouds ; and William Penn, 
from an eminence that is barely surpassed by the Wash- 
ington Monument, the highest in the world, looks out 
upon the city whose foundation he laid in brotherly love. 
Independence Hall has been restored to what it was one 
hundred years ago. The past and the present meet upon 
its threshold. Thus the " Quaint Corners" are held in 
grateful recollection, while a new city is ever being born 
from the glories of the old. 

J. LOUGHRAN SCOIT. 

August, 1899. 



CONTEXTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Quaker Soldier. Helen Campbell, . . 9 

II. The City of a Dream. Helen Campbell, . 43 

III. "Caspipina"' : The Story of a Mother 

Church. Louise Stockton, ... 75 

IV. Old Saint Joseph's. Elizabeth Robins, . 109 
V. The Old Philadelphia Library. Louise 

Stockton, 129 

VI. Quaker and Tory. Helen Campbell, . . 107 
VII. The Philadelphia Post-Office. Edwin 

A. Barber; 207 

VIII. Shop Windows. Elizabeth Robins, . . 229 

IX. Public Schools. Eliza S. Turner, . . 257 

X. A Master Builder. Helen Campbell, . . 295 

XI. Early Abolitionists. Helen Campbell, . 333 

XII. Medical Education. Helen Campbell, . . 367 

XIII. The Bettering-House and Other Chari- 

ties. Louise Stockton, .... 397 

XIV. The Right to Bear Arms. Frank Willing/ 

Leach, 437 

XV. Stephen GiRARD ; ]\Iariner and Merchant. 

Louise Stockton, 472 



illustratio:n's. 

Prom Designs by Joseph Pennell, Alice Barbei\ Charles H. 

Stephens, Colin C. Cooper, Jr., Walter M. Dunk, 

Mary K. Trotter and others. 



riG. PAGE 

.1. Portrait op William Penn, . . Frontispiece. 
2. Chigwell Grammar School, . . . .11 



3. Interior of Chigwell Gra^mmar School, 

4. Wanstead in Essex, 

5. Swarthmoor Meeting House, . 

6. Swarthmoor Hall, 

7. Newgate Prison, 

8. Penn Coat-of-Arms, 

9. William Penn's Burial Place, 

10. Weather Vane from Penn's Grist Mill, 

11. Gloria Dei (Old Swedes') Church, . 

13. Seal op Penn's Colony, .... 

13. Penn's House in Letitia Street, 

14. Slate-Roof House — Original Appearance, 

15. Slate-Roof House in 1868, .... 

16. The South Room— Slate-Roof House, 

17. St. Peter's Gate, 

18. St. Peter's Church, . 

19. In St. Peter's Churchyard, 

20. The Font 

21. Among the Bells, 

22. The Pulpit, .... 

23. Christ Church from the East, 

24. Bishop White's Study, 



15 
17 
23 
29 
33 
37 
45 
49 
51 
55 
59 
63 
67 
71 
75 
77 
83 
87 
91 
95 
99 
103 



XIV 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



25. Old Tombstone (TAiT.piEri:). . 
20. An Old Confkssional. 

27. (f.VTEWAY ((^LD St. JOSKI'HS), . 

2H. Old Lamp — St. .Ioseimi's, . 

20. Doorway of the Fatiiehs" House, 

30. St. Maky's CurHCHYAKD, . 

31. Among the Ukaves — IIolv Tiunity 

32. Evangeline's Grave, . 
38. Clock at St. Joseph's (Tailpiece), 

34. Minerva in the Library, . 

35. The Old Liukakv. 
30. The New LinitAiiv. 

37. A CORNEl! 

38. The Old Lantern, 

39. Vents — FitoM the llrsn Collection 

40. The Loganian Lilkaiiv. 
4L IlEtiUEST Box, .... 

42. The KiDGWAV Lii'.UAKY, 

43. Rush Memorials, 

44. The Philosophical Society', 

45. Franklin Institute Library, . 
40. Stairway at Histokical Society', 

47. The Bay-Window. 

48. The Old Bartuam House. 

49. John Bartram — His 1>ible, 

50. Tool-House in Bartram's (Jarden, 
5L Hamilton House. Woodlands C'e.metery 

52. On the Wissahk kon — The Old Livezey Hoi 

53. Garden Gate ok the Live/.ey Hois 

54. Morris' Folly 

55. Chew House. (Jki!>u\n town, 

56. "Solitude"'— House OK John Fenn 

57. "Stenton "— Uesiden( e ok James Logan, 

58. " Keramics" AT Stenton, . 

59. Before the Fire — Stenton, 



SE, 



I'AI.I 

Ids 
109 
111 
113 
115 
119 
123 
125 
128 
129 
130 
131 
133 
i:?r) 
137 
139 
141 
143 
147 
l.")! 
l.V) 
159 
103 
lOU 
172 

i;:; 

177 
ISO 

isi 
is:! 
1S7 
191 
I'.i:. 
197 
199 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



fk;. 

00. ('orKT-HousE 

♦il. AiJ.EOoKK Ai. (tROup — Nkw Post-Offh'K 
r»2. Th?: (^r,D Bradford HorsE, 
Oo. Thk Mkrchants" Exchan(U<:, 

04. The New Post-Offke, 

05. Letter Collecting, . 
00. The Letter Rakk — Sorting, 

07. At the Railroad Elevator, 

08. A Moment of Leisure, 

09. PHEPARIN(i FOR Di:LI\E1{V, AND (^ANCELINC 

Stamps 

70. Off foji the Depot, . 

71. At the Shop Door (Initial), . 

72. A Peramrtlating Shop, . 

73. A Front Street Junk Shop, 

74. The Correct Time, . 

75. (tOOds at Second-Hand, 
70. Embryo Bric-a-Brac Shop, 

77. The Old—, 

78. — And the New, .... 

79. ''Five Cents' Worth of P>raid, ^Fa 
SO. Shutting Up, .... 

81. Lunch Hour at the Boys' High School 

82. The Girls' Normal School, 
8:>. Drawing at the Normai, School, 
84. UxrvERsurY of Pennsylvania. . 
.S5. Fireplace in the >rusEu.M— ()i,d Gkrmantow 

Academy, .... 

80. Union School at Kingsessing, . 

87. Protestant Episcopal Academy, 

88. Five Minutfs Late, . 

89. A Sunny Corner in the Schoolyard, 

90. Friends' Meeting-House, . 

91. Old German School, . 

92. A Primary Scholar, . 



PAGE 

201 
200 
20!) 
2i:5 
217 
219 
221 
22') 
224 

225 
227 
229 
232 
2:53 
237 
241 
245 
248 
249 
251 
253 
259 
203 
205 
207 

2(59 



279 

283 
287 
291 
294 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



FKJ. 

98. Benjamin Frankmn (Bab-Relief ), . 

1)4. Franklin's Printing Press— London, 17'25 

0."). Franklin's Electrical Machine, 

9(J. Franklin's Coir.t Sword, 

97. Mementoes from France, 

98. Franklin's Music Stand, 

99. ('L()( K IN the Library, 

100. Franklin's Grave, . 

101. W. H. Ffrness, D. D. (Portrait), 

102. Isaac T. Hopper, " 

103. Lewis Tappan, 

104. LrcRETiA Mott, " 

105. J. :N[iller M'Kim, 

106. Mary (^rew, 

107. Grace Anna Lewis, " 

108. Medical Hall, University of Pennsylvani 

109. University Hospital, 

110. Hahnemann College, 

111. Clinic Hall, Woman's College, 

112. Within the Gate, Pennsylvania Hospital, 

113. The Old Friends' Almshouse, 

114. Home for Incurarle.s, 
11 r,. The "U. B." Stove, . 
11(». Christ Church Hospital, 

117. Tn the Slums 

118. Picturesc^ue Paupers, 

119. The Blockley Almshouse, 
120— ICl. (The Right to Bear Arms). 

Arms of the Sims Family, 438 ; Lloyd-Stanley, 439 
Cir;emo, 440; Asshoton, 441 ; Dickinson, 442; Bush 
rotl Washington, 443 ; Pcnn, 444 ; Lojjan, 44.5 ; Bar 
tram, 440; Shippen, 447; PemluMton, 447; Janney 
44N; Chew, 44.S; Lanlner, 449; Willinir, 440; M..r 
ris,449; Hollinirswortli, 4r»() ; Ra\vle,451; Williams 
451 ; Norri8, 451 ; Tilgliman, 451 ; Fowel, 452 



•a(;k 
297 
303 
307 
311 
315 
319 
325 
829 
335 
341 
345 
351 
855 
859 
3(53 
3G9 
375 
881 
389 
399 
405 
411 
417 
419 
423 
427 
433 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



FIG 



PAGE 

McCall, 453 ; Gilpin, 454 ; Lenox, 455 ; Allison, 456 ; 
Seals of the Five Early Governors (Gordon, Hamil- 
ton, Morris, Denny, John Penn), 457 ; BidcUe, 459 ; 
Watmough,4P)0; Boudinot, 460 ; The Smyth Ilatc-h- 
ment at Christ Church, 461 ; Cadwalader, 46B ; Aber- 
crombie, 463; Vault Coverings at Christ Church 
Burial Ground, 465 ; The Peters Arms, Belmont Man- 
sion, 466 ; Franklin, 467 ; Penington, 468 ; Hopkinson, 
469 ; The Wallace Vault at St. Peter's, 470. 
162. Brass Knocker, Girard Mansion, . . .472 
163 Statue of Stephen Girard, College Door- 
way, 473 

164. A Corner OF Girard College, . . 'J 

165. On the Stairway, "^"^ 

166. In the Library, ^^^ 

167. Girard's Birth Certificate, . . . -483 

168. Secretary and Musical Clock, . . • 48o 

169. Stephen Girard— His Gig, . • * ,, " ^^^ 

170. "The Table was SET with Much Silver," . 489 

171. Infinite Riches in a Little Room, . . 493 

172. Chairs, Tables and Bric-a-brac Memorials, 497 

173. Model of the Montesquieu, .... -^"l^ 

174. Pierre Girard's Cross of St. Louis, . . 503 




A QUAKER SOLDIER 



"Dec. 29, 1667— Lord's Day.— At night comes ]Mis. 
Turner to see ns and there among other talk, she tells nie 
that Mr. William Pen who is lately come over from Ireland, 
is a Quaker again or some very melancholy thing ; that he 
cares for no company nor comes into any, which is a plea- 
sant thing after his being abroad so long, and his father 
such a hypocritical rogue and at this time an atheist." 

A LITTLE complicated in statement, but ou the whole 
a fair representation of the state of mind, not only of the 
good Mr. Samuel Pepys, but of the entire class repre- 
sented by him, toward a man more perversely and con- 
tinuously misunderstood and misrepresented than any 
other figure in that time of sharply-defined and always- 
encroaching individualities. And from that day to this 
the popular impression has been as thoroughly in the 
wrong as popular impressions are likely to be, one side 
of the shield receiving the strongest possible light, the 
other left always in shadow. 

Every child recalls the tall figure standing, parchment 
in hand, under the " treaty tree," surrounded l)v Indians 
in various appreciative attitudes, and every child is sure 
that this same tall figure in straight-skirted coat and 
small-clothes, with ])road - brimmed hat, from whose 
shadow he looked out l)enevolently, is the true and onl}^ 
9 



10 A SYLVAN- CITY. 

William IViui. Till Macaulay, this pictiuv was Ww 
posscfssion of all, starling always into life as llu' naiiic 
was licar<l — the one peaceful and sunny point to whicli 
the eye turned in a story made up too often of dctprr 
>!iadows than one cares to consider. 

'riuii came the ingeniously-put charges in the volunir>; 
of the brilliant historian, who opened with a paragraith 
which seemed to sum uj) all the rare goodness and })ower 
with which each I'cadcr had instinctively endowed 
'' Penn, the Apo.stle. "' " Kival nations and hostile sects 
have agreed in canonizing him— England is proud of his 
name. A great commonwealth beyond the Atlantic 
regai-ds him with a reverence similar to that which tlu- 
Athenians felt for Theseus and the Romans for(^>uirimis. 
The roix'clable society of which he was a member hon- 
ors him as an apostle. B}' pious men of other persua- 
si(»ns he is generally regarded as a bright pattern of 
Christian virtue. Meanwhile, admirers of a very ditler- 
ent sort have sounded his j)raises. The French philoso- 
phers of the eighleeuih century ])ardoned what they 
regardecl as his sui)erstitious fancies, in consideration 
of his contempt for jiriests and of his cosmopolitan be- 
nevolence, impartially extended to all races and all 
creeds. His name has thus become, throughout all civ- 
ili/ed countries, a synonym for probity and ]>hilan- 
thropy. Yet" — 

Here, with the charge that he is far moic a mythical 
than an hi>i(Hical jx'rsonage, begins a series of ininien- 
does rathei- than direct accusations, continuing thi-ongh 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 13 

the four volumes with a steadily-increasing animus, and 
leaving one in the unhappy state to which much of the 
modern historical research reduces one — entirely uncer- 
tain as to what is and what is not true, and disposed to 
consider everything a myth to which faith has hitherto 
Ijcen pinned. 

A sketch holds no room for refutation, but a recent 
dispassionate reviewer of Macaulay's estimates of other 
historical personages sums up in the keenest words the 
actual fact as to the soundness of his judgment : 

*'This faculty of conveying the greatest amount of 
false effect with the smallest amount of definite misstate- 
ment appears to be an unconscious felicity in the reviewer, 
more like genius than any other faculty he possessed, and 
akin to that subtle power of self-deception which makes 
the heart of man deceitful above all things and despe- 
rately wicked." 

That the critic of the seventeenth century should fail 
to comprehend the motives and purposes of a man two 
hundred jears in advance of his time is not surprising, 
but the nineteenth still waits for a biography which shall 
give neither Penn the Quaker nor Penn the politician, 
but Penn the man, with a clear summary of such forces 
as worked to make him precisely what he was. Hardly 
a figure of that curious transition time is better worth 
study, but so long as he is persistently considered only 
as Quaker, and every toucl of natural life suppressed, 
uncertainty and misgiving are likely to wait upon all 
judgment. 

While the son is more or less hid in mist, the father, 



14 A SYLVAy CITY. 



Sir William renn, owns well nigh as suppressed an ex- 
i-tcnci; as that of the Iron Mask. In the story of the 
<nvat sea-captains of the time, he stood in England 
second to no one save Blake ; and in profound nautical 
science, dashing and unthnching hraverv, iind a power 
of resource that never failed, he Avas the worthy rival 
of Van Tromp and l)e Iluyter. Even Cromwell, who, 
like most Roundheads, had no love for a navy whidi 
remained persistently loyal, admits this. Of a family 
called old in the heginning of the sixteenth century, and 
trained under a father who was for most of his working 
life the captain of a merchantman, he knew every grade 
of work and learned how to ohey before he dreamed of 
connnanding. lie was a captain before twenty, and 
even then a courtly and polished man, with bold and 
noble face, a strongly-built figure and a marked taste 
for good living. lie had married in Rotterdam, just 
after receiving his promotion, Margaret Jasper, the 
daught(>r of a Dutch merchant, and Pepys has a line 
which, remembering his prejudices, is high praise : 
" Ilath been heretofore pretty handsome and is now 
very discreet."' 

Never was a time when discretion was more needed, 
and the child horn to the young couple October 14, 1644, 
required precisely the inheritance he received — the ar- 
dent, unflinching temperament of the sailor father; the 
more quiet but intense and fliithful nature of a mother 
whose love, both as wife and mother, was a life-long 
passion. Over the cradle where the baby lay, its large 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 



15 



and singularly luminous blue eyes watching the glitter 
of the sailor's uniform, the father prophesied the career 
that should build up the waning fortunes of the famil}', 
and make this son not onl}' name, but wealth, friends 
and place. No words ever seemed to hold more truth. 
At twenty-three, a rear-admiral ; at twenty-tive, vice- 




INTERIOR OF CHIGWELL GRAMMAR SCHOOL. 



admiral in the Irish sea ; at twenty-nine, vice-admiral 
of the Straits — what honor might not be expected before 
even middle life had been reached ? 

In the meantime the baby had grown into a beauti- 
ful and promising boy at Wanstead, in Es,sex, where, 



16 A STLVAy CITY. 

at the Chigwell Grammar School, then just foiinck'd by 
llu- Archhisliop of York, and still standing, ivy grown 
and venerabk', he l)egan his march througli the J.atin 
grannnar, then, as now, the first essential in a polite 
English ('(hu-ation. His progress was wonderfully rapid. 
but even then intiuenees of which he had no eonseious- 
ness were sha})ing the future. The young Adniinil, 
still under Unity, seems to have lacked utterly the scu-c 
of personal loyalty to any cause, and, while nominally 
faithful to the Protectorate, was, in fact, watchful over 
no interests but his own. A keen observer, it was easy 
for him to see that, even with Cromwell's power at its 
height, the majority of the nation were either secretly 
or openly royalist, and that at his death the Connnon- 
wcalth nnist give jilace to a monarchy. A secret corre- 
spondence began with Charles Stuart, then in exile, 
which resulted in an ofler from the Admiral to place the 
entire fleet at his disposal. The offer came to naught, 
for Charles had no i)orts and no money to pay sailors, 
and as the fleet had already been ordered on the fotal 
West Indian ex])editi()n. Cromwell, who knew every de- 
tail of the treachery. i)reserved his usual inscrntal)le 
silence. 

The attack on St. Domingo failed disastrously and 
through no fault of the Admiral's, who, to atone for 
the unexpected reverse, attacked the beautiful island of 
Jamaica, and with very small expenditure of force or 
life added it to the English possessions. Enchanted 
with the climate and natural features of the island, he 



Sp"' i:^^ '-<% 




A QUAKER SOLDIER. 19 

talked of it constantlj^ on his return home, and the son 
listened and questioned with an equal enthusiasm, 
dreaming of the wonderful Western world by day and 
by night. There was short time, however, for the home 
life. Cromwell, for reasons quite inexplicable then, 
though now perfectly plain, chose to consider Penn as 
guilty as Yenahles, through whose weakness the as- 
sault on Hispaniola had failed, and they were ordered 
to separate dungeons in the Tower. The eldest son, 
little over ten years old and passionately attached to his 
father, was thrown into a state of the deepest melan- 
choly, brooding constantly over the misfortune, until 
one day, when alone and sad, a deep and sudden sense 
of happiness came to his soul, and the room seemed 
filled with a soft and heavenly light. 

There is no record of the immediate effect of this 
upon the child, but matters very shortly mended. The 
Admiral, who pined in his close dungeon, made full 
confession of his faults in a petition sent in to the 
Council, and Cromwell, who admired his genius, even 
when convinced of his want of loyalty, set him free at 
once. But his own calling being, of course, not open 
to him, he fell back upon intrigue as a permanent one, 
and, pretending that he had no further interest in poli- 
tics, retired to the estates in Ireland which had been 
the reward of his services to the Commonwealth. A 
private tutor from England went with him, who had 
charge not only of Penn's education, but of that of the 
brother Richard, who, with a sister Margaret formed 



20 A SYLVAN CITY. 

the family. At tifteen, William Penn was fully pre- 
l)aivd to enter Oxford ; a tall, slender lad, with a i)as- 
sionate delight in every form of field sport, and an es- 
pecial fondness for boating. 

The death of Cromwell delayed all action for a tinic. 
The crafty and self-seeking Admiral realized that tiie 
army was still in the ascendant, and for more than a 
year they lingered in Ireland, until the deposition of 
Kichard Cromwell made decisive action possible. At 
once he declared for Charles and hurried to the Low 
Countries to pay his court, where the king was so 
heartily glad to see him that he knighted him on the 
spot and employed him on some special service. His 
influence was at once brought to bear upon the navy, 
and with a power that, at a critical moment, brought 
Admiral Lawsou and his ships up to the Tower, where 
the}' called for a free parliament. 

The result of this was finally the recall of the Stuarts, 
and Charles, who forgot obligations with an ease born 
of long practice as well as constitutional tendency, 
never forgot this. The way to royal favor and prefer- 
ment lay oi)en, and Sir William Penn, whose amltilimi 
was even more for his son than for himself, looked for- 
ward to an even better fortune than he had dri'anied. 
Young William was sent at once to Oxford and matricu- 
lated as a gentleman commoner within a short i)eriod. 
But it was long enough for the fornuitioii of friendships 
that lasted all his life. Uoyal patronage assured him a 
brilliant position, but this he must have held in any 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 21 

case. His superiors took pride, in him as one of the 
liarclest workers among students, and his equals in his 
skill and daring in all manly sports. He gained what 
was for that time a profound knowledge of history and 
theology, and a very thorough one, not only of Latin 
and Greek, but of French, German, Italian and Dutch. 
He studied deeply the doctrinal discussions, the fruit of 
Cromwell's time, and, like many of the young men then 
at Oxford, was in principle far more Puritan than Roy- 
alist. The conflict, known to all noble and generous 
spirits who find convictions and existing forces in oppo- 
sition, became his then and for many following years, 
and he dreamed then the dream of many, who, seeing 
only ''a reign of darkness and debauchery," looked to 
the !N"ew World as the scene of an empire, where neither 
bigotry nor formalism should rule, and no obstacles bar 
the way to the highest and holiest living. 

Disquieted and full of revolt, he was attracted by the 
preaching of Thomas Loe, an obscure layman, who had 
taken up the doctrines taught by George Fox. Penn 
had protested with others against the introduction of 
the Popish ritual at Oxford, and now went again and 
again, being absent so constantly from their own ser- 
vices that the superiors, with that wisdom and perspi- 
cacity which have distinguished superiors since the 
world began, immediately arrested and fined them for 
irregularity. Open rebellion was naturally the imme- 
diate consequence, and as the result of some reasonable 
but quite as many unreasonable and hot-headed assaults 



A STL VAX CITY 



oil establislu'd cusloin, Peiin. ufter many remoiistrances, 
was expelled from the University. 

Probably no father ever experienced a keener ^ense n| 
outraiiv tiian that felt by Sir AVilliam Peiin. His son 
might have committed any form of seventeenth-cenUuy 
iniqnity and l)een certain of pardon, (iandthnu. duel- 
ing, drunkenness were all hardly offenses ; were, on the 
whole, the effervescence of youthful s])irits, as well as 
the chosen pursuits of the time. But non-conformity 
was a base and low-])orn tendency, and added to this 
was a sense of some dee})er evil to come. The Jovial 
Admiral went with clouded l)row. and when the news 
of the expulsion came the disgrace hurt him to the core. 
Pepys reconls the misery into which the family were 
idungedand the consternation among the family friends. 

It was impossilde to keej) up the quarrel with this fa- 
vorite son, who si'cmed "in a low ;ind sad state (»f 
mind,'' utterly unnatural at eighteen, and, after lou^- 
deliberation, he took what bade fair to be the wise and 
effectual course. A jiarty of college friends were about 
to begin the grand tour. The Admiral proposed that 
his son should join them, and Penn accepted with di- 
ligiit. The reaction had come, and once presented at 
the brilliant court of Louis t^uatorze. Penn tbrgot his 
scruples, and, while never going t(> the U-ngths connnon 
at the time, still lived a gay and joyful life, the lite not 
of (^)uaker l)ut of Cavalier. The Admiral rubbed his 
hands over the success of the experiment, determining 
that his son's education should be linished in France, 



'u^^^ 







A QUAKER SOLDIER. 25 

and that he should then enter the army. Penn went to 
Sauniur prepared in his own mind for this change, 
placed himself under Moses Amyrault, and with this 
famous scholar not only read the principal fathers but 
studied thoroughly the language and literature of the 
country. At the close of this course of study he began 
to travel, having again joined Lord Robert Spencer, 
with whom he had become intimate while living in Paris, 
at which time also he had met Lady Dorothy Sidney, 
sister of Algernon Sidney. With the brother a friend- 
ship now began which lasted uninterruptedly through 
all variations of opinion. Two years of intercourse 
with the best that France and Italy could aftbrd had 
passed when Penn was suddenly summoned home, partly 
to attend to family affairs and partly to secure his own 
safety, as there were rumors of possible war. He had 
left London a moody and silent boy. He returned to it 
so fine a gentleman that the world first wondered, then 
opened its arms, and ]SIr. Pepys wrote : 

" Aug. 30, 1G64. — Comes ^h\ Pen to visit me. I perceive 
something of learning he hath got ; but a great deal if 
not too much of the vanity of the French garb and af- 
fected manner of speech and gait." 

The Admiral, who saw in this brilliant and fascina- 
ting son the realization of every dream, wisely spoke no 
word of the past, and to insure his forgetfulness of 
old companions and tendencies, kept him steadily em- 
ployed. He entered as a student at Lincoln's Inn, and 
gained a knowledge of law that served him in good 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



stead in many after enierti;encies, and apart from this, 
he ^vas constantly employed on the King's or his 
father's l)nsine^s. Then eame the crisis in the Dntch 
war, when Penn was fin- some time on his father's 
staff and saw a gooddeal of sharp service at sea. AVith 
June eame a final, decisive hattle, hringing to the Ad- 
miral the greatest rewards that his King could heap 
upon him. He was informed that he would be raised 
to the peerage with tlu' title of T.ord "Weymouth, 
in addition to the Irish grant of land and the com- 
mand of Kinsale. But in the meantime the i)lague 
had broken out, and the Admiral, who had left his 
son in London for a time, returned, to lind to his 
despair that the dark mood had reappeared. Penn left 
off French, neglected the court and all visits, and spent 
his time with men of serious and devout lives. Absence 
had cured in the first case, and the experiment might 
succeed again. The court of Charles, dissolute and 
reckless, naturally repelled men who cared for l)etter 
things, but a minor court, that of the Duke of Ormonde. 
who was practically vice-king of Ireland, had all the 
brilliancy and charm, with none of the disgusting lea- 
tures of the English one. The Ormondes were a family 
of soldiers, and Lord Arran, the second son, had already 
met William Peini and urged his coming over. The 
change was accomplished ; liivorable word was sensat 
to the effect of the new surroundings, and once more 
tlie Admiral breathed freely. 

Nevertheless, the turning-point had come, and his 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 37 



own action shut the door on any chance of the future 
he had labored to make secure. An insurrection arose 
among the soldiers at one of the stations. Penn volun- 
teered under his friend Lord Arran, and having won 
general applause for his bravery and coolness, became 
eager to make arms his profession, and urged his father 
to accept the proposal made him by the Duke. The 
Admiral refused. This son must not be sacrificed in 
any chance skirmish, but must reserve himself for po- 
litical life and the founding of a family. Penn protested 
in vain, and at last resigned himself unwillingly to a 
decision he could not alter, and again the Admiral 
chuckled at carrying his point, with small thought that 
he had really checkmated himself (jnce for all. 

As a remembrance of a dream never quite forgotten, 
Penn was painted at this time in full military dress— 
the only genuine portrait in existence, and the typical 
Quaker, the great apostle of peace, looks out upon us 
to-day armed and accoutred as a soldier ! It is a most 
noble and beautiful face, with a union of sweetness and 
resoluteness that made the key-note of his life— a face in 
which is evident '' the delicacy of the scholar, hovering 
as a finer presence above the forceful audacity of the 
man of the world— at once bookman, penman, swords- 
man, diplomat, sailor, courtier, orator." 

To the day of his death these traits remained. The 
actual life of the soldier had been denied, but warfare 
was his portion, and he fought dauntlessly against prin- 
cipalities and powers through all the years that followed. 



28 A SYLVAN CITY. 

In the meantime another Irish land grant had been 
made to the Admiral, and IVnn had full occupation in 
hearing and adjusting the intricate cases resulting from 
over twenty years of grants, confiscations and restora- 
tions. The Admiral confided fully at last in his son's 
business capacity and left the matter entirely in his 
hands, and a year passed in which only one trip to 
London was made. A sudden call look I'enn to Cork, 
and there he heard that his old Oxford friend, Thomas 
Loe, would preach. He remembered his lx)yish entlui- 
siasm, and, led by curiosity, went to discover how the 
same thing Avould strike his maturer mind. The fmal 
crisis had come, and as he listened he knew that, vacil- 
late as he hereafter might between filial duty and duty 
to God, he was in his soul from that night a Quaker. 

It is hard in these days of tolerance and indifferentism 
to even imagine the confiict, inward and outward, that 
followed. Attending meetings, he was almost imme- 
diately arrested, refused the oflered parole, and would 
have taken trial with the rest had not an order c(»me 
for his discharge. The thunderstruck Admiral ordcntl 
him liack to London, and for a few days, as no change 
was perceptible in dress and speech, persuaded himself 
he had been mistaken. But the issue came ; Penn, after 
solenni consideration, refused to uncover before father or 
king, and the furious Admiral turned him out of doors. 

Scoff as one may at outward peculiarities and puerifi- 
ties, into (his time of anarchy and revohition had conic, 
in Quakerism, the first intellectual Itasis of true demo- 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 



29 



cracy. To the founder of this system, "philosophies, 
arts, rehgions, legislations, Avere as nothing." Every 
man was eomplete in himself ; each human being, man 












SWARTHMOOR HALL. 



or woman, by virtue of the inner light, was supreme. 
Cromwell had said in the beginning, "Now I see there 
is a people risen that I cannot Avin, either with gifts, 
honors, offices or place, but all other sects and people 
lean." 



30 A SYLVAN CITY. 

To Penn the dream of his youth seemed fulfilled. The 
politics of Qnakei'isin were identical in spirit with tlic 
visions of Algernon Sidney, though in his dcnioeraey 
only pride of soul and heroie virtue ruled. The Coni- 
monwcallli had failed from inherent defects, hut another 
might he founded in which tiie religious idea should 
prove the missing link, the point of union hetwceu here- 
tofore opposing systems. 

There were months in which the thought grew and 
matured. His recall home proved to the hewildered 
and unhap[)y Adniiial that Itanishnu-nt had heenus(dess. 
Penn wrote and spoke with a daring which seemed the 
wildest recklessness, and soon, in spite of friends at 
court, found himself in the Tower. For eight months 
and sixteen days he suhmitted to a solitary dungeon, 
and during that tinu' in ''•No Cross, no Crown,'' added 
another notalde hook to the nohle literature of the 
Tower. Mgorous })am})hlets followed, and their eflect 
was so strong that, though hy this time the whole Penn 
family were in extraordinary trouljlc, an order for his 
release was sent. 

The story of the years that followed is one of perpet- 
ual conllict. Ills l)rave hearing in prison had gaiuiMl 
over his lather, who hoped nearly to the end that his 
views would moderate suniciently to allow the accept- 
ance of the peerage. There had heen continuous trials, 
puhlic discussions, short imi)risonments and a general 
commotion, on which Charles looked with the smilinu: 
cynicism he had toward all convictions ; but through it 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 31 

all, both he and his brother retained affection for the 
elder and genuine regard for the younger Penn, and ac- 
cepted the guardianship entrusted to them by the dying 
Admiral, avIio, in the final days of life, turned with a 
clinging affection to this contumacious and disappoint- 
ing Quaker son, in whose honesty and clear-sightedness 
he had such trust, that all his considerable property, 
saving a life-interest in the estate for his widow, was 
left to him. From his death-lied the Admiral sent to 
both the King and the Duke of York, asking for the son 
a continuance of the friendship shown the father, and 
James became guardian and protector, a relation which 
caused much scandal — Quaker subject and Catholic 
prince meeting together on terms that were incompre- 
hensible to the more violent members of the sect. But 
the relation affected property and not religion, and this 
fact was urged years afterward by Penn to the commit- 
tee of inquiry from Magdalen College. 

And now another master, before whom the hat was 
willingly doffed, claimed a service from which Penn 
had hitherto been exempt. At Chalfont, in Buckingham- 
shire, dwelt, during the first years of the civil war, cer- 
tain quiet friends whose names still carry a meaning 
deeper than any known to that troubled time. Side by 
side were John Milton, who had left his London house 
when the plague began and came to the friends who shared 
his convictions and delighted in his genius — Thomas 
Ellwood, the famous Isaac Pennington, and Gulielma 
Maria Springett, daughter of Sir William Springett, 



32 A SYLVAN CITY. 

who (lied at the siege of Arundel Castle. A true soldier, 
of noble presence and a character at once strong and 
sweet, he had married a woman <»f e(jual spirit and 
beauty, passionately devoted to him. There is no more 
pathetic story in the annals of the civil war than their 
short love life and tragic parting, only a few weeks be- 
fore the birth of this daughter, who grew into a lovely and 
dainty girlhood, sought by many gallants, but protected 
always by the mild and gracit»us shield of her (Quaker 
faith and breeding. J^ike Tenn, however. Lady Sjirin- 
gett had known every fascination of court life, and 
Quakerism, in both their cases, meant inward rather 
than outward asceticism. 

Thomas EUwood's memoirs give not only the story of 
his own unsuccesslul love, but many details of the life 
at ('halibut. Guli loved nuisic, and nuisie was ]Milt(m\s 
passion, second only in his mind to poesy. It was to 
these friends that he lirst told the secret of his comple- 
tion of "Paradise Lost,'' and it was Llhvood who sug- 
gested to him the theme of " Paradis(> Regained." 
Pennington had become the second husband of Lady 
Springett, and Penn on his lirst visit to this friend met 
Guli and found his fate. They were soon atlianced, but 
her stepfather was tlu'u in Jail for opinion's sake, much 
of his time l)eing passed in in'ison. and the whole period 
of courtship was a perturbed and stormy (me. Penn 
was tried and imprisoned for some months, wrote vari- 
ous pamphU'ts and treatises, and (tn his release went at 
once to Holland, where he had l)een urged to go in de- 




- .J \ ^4. $} b If J p- f 




XEWUATK PKlSUN. 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 35 

feiise of the many then suffering persecution there. For 
them and for tlie man}^ sections of the great Puritan 
party in England, who had fled to Holland at the re- 
turn of the Stuarts, America was the daily talk and the 
nightly dream, and Penn, as he journeyed from cit}- to 
city, seeing always the best men of the age exiled and 
sad for conscience's sake, felt once more the longing 
that had come to him at Oxford, to found a free State, 
no matter if in the wilderness. 

Seven months after his liberation from ^N'ewgate he 
returned from Holland ; reported in London the results 
of his expedition, and then put aside every perplexity 
and posted down to Bucks. Here, while the house he 
had chosen, some six miles from Chalfont, was being 
made read}-, he enjoyed the first quietness that had 
come to him for years, and in the early spring took his 
young bride home. 

Spring and summer passed, but the honeymoon gave 
no signs of ending. Neither friend nor foe could draw 
him from the seclusion he had chosen. He neither wrote 
nor traveled. The instinct of activity, always urging 
him on, seemed laid to rest, and many believed that he 
had subsided into the quiet countr}^ gentleman, content 
with a beautiful wife, a fine estate and the prospect of 
a family. But Guli herself had man}' of the same 
characteristics, and when the time was ripe and happ}^ 
rest had done its needed work in healing and strength- 
ening, joined him in the work which, for three j^ears, 
they pursued together, ♦^hough the birtl^ of the first son, 



36 A SYLVAN CITY. 

Springett, soon interfered with the wife's share in public 

W(Hk. 

The memoirs of Count de Grammont and the journal 
of George Fox give tlie two sides of this period, and for 
l)Otli toleration was unknown. William Tenn stood al- 
most alone as a religious yet tolerant man, Init the 
Quaker soldier, while claiming that no civil magistrate 
should have power to inflict penalties for opinion's sake, 
used ever}' weapon of controversy to stir up and wound 
the unbeliever. But though he had become the sword 
of the new sect, and a sword never sheathed, the in- 
fluence of his comprehensive and reasonable mind was 
felt on both sides. With the passing of the infamous 
Test act he once more, after five years' absence, re- 
newed intercourse with the court, and used every power 
of argument and persuasion to bring about a reconstruc- 
tion of methods, and James promised to add all his in- 
fluence with the King to this end. The province of New 
Netherlands, stretching from the Delaware to the Con- 
necticut, was then the property of the Duke of York, 
and as the only ol)ject of owners was to wring as much 
money as possible out of their estates, it became their 
interest to ofter concessions and inducements to emigra- 
tion. With fresh persecutions at home, the English 
Quakers turned toward this province, where many Puri- 
tans had already gone, and Fox and Fcnwick began a 
negotiation for the purchase of a share from Berkely. 
A fierce dispute as to Fenwuk's rights began, which 
was finallv referred to Penn, and soon the reconciled 




HE PEN>H COAT OF AKM5 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 39 

parties set sail for New Jerse}', leaving him in charge of 
their interests, other complications soon making him the 
responsible head 

Two years of nitense activity followed. The New 
Jersey colony, for which he had made a constitution, 
prospered steadily, and he was the agent for all who 
desired to join them. He made a tour on the Conti- 
nent, preaching and writing, until, worn down with 
over-work, he fell into "a low and Ustless mood," and 
suffered from intense depression which even Guli could 
hardly remove. It passed, with a short season of par- 
tial rest at home, and then even more engrossing inte- 
rests arose from 1678-80. In the centre of a brilUant 
court he stands out as one of the most extraordinary 
figures of the time. Absolutely neutral as to the great 
objects of party strife, and wanting no honors that 
court or king could ofter, he was the intimate and 
trusted friend of Catholic and Protestant alike. The 
friendships of Penn are in themselves a story. Faith- 
ful, strong and tender, the man who felt them needed a 
catholic mind to comprehend and hold the varied na- 
tures that, having tested, never again swerved from 
their allegiance to him. John Locke, many years older, 
had discussed with him the constitution for North Caro- 
lina, its final failure being in those points where Pemi's 
suggestions had been rejected. The Whig Lord Rus- 
sell, the Tory Lord Hyde, the Republican Algernon 
Sidney, all trusted and loved him, and, sought by rakes, 
courtiers, writers and members of Parliament ahke, he 



40 A SVLVAX city: 



bent every power of his mind toward impressing upon 
them tlie necessity of toleration to opinion. Finally, 
after long and patient waiting, and the constant urging 
of his friends, the House of Commons consented to 
listen to tlic })lea of Dissenters, and Penn made l)efore 
a connnittee a speech such as had never been heard 
within the walls of Westminster Palace, a speech so 
convincing that the connnittee decided at once to 
insert in the bill then before Parliament a clause for 
r-elief. Had it passed, Penn would have remained in 
England, and Pennsylvania continued only a dream. 
The Titus Gates plot, apparently ruinous to every 
hoj^e, proved, in the storm it aroused, a breeze to 
fdl the sails of every westward-bound l)ark. Penn, 
who despai^-ed of freedom at home, turned more 
eagerly to its possibility in the New World, and after 
many expedients had been discussed with Sidney he 
settled upon a defmite plan of action. 

Admiral Penn had left l)ehind him claims on the 
government amounting to nearly lifteen thousand 
pounds, a sum equivalent to nearly four times that 
amount at present, and his son now sent in a petition 
tliat in lieu of any money settlement the King would 
grunt to him and liis lieirs forever a ti'act of un(H'cu- 
pied crown land in America. The location, descril)ed 
at length, included no less than forty-seven thousand 
square miles of surface — a little less than tlie area of 
England. l»ut Charles would not have hesitated a mo- 
ment had not the Privy Council veiiemently opposed 



A QUAKER SOLDIER. 41 

the plan. With entire uncertainty as to the issue of 
the petition, Penn, with twenty-two others, purchased 
from Sir George Carteret a portion of East New Jer- 
sey, and was actively engaged in planning for new 
towns and the estahlishment of a liberal government 
when a charter was at last settled upon and sent in 
to the King, who at once set his signature to it, well 
pleased at canceling a heavy debt in such eas}- fashion. 

New Wales was the name fixed upon by Penn for 
the new province, partly from a rememl)rance of his 
Welsh ancestry and in part from its mountainous char- 
acter. A Welshman in the council objecting, Penn 
suggested Sylvania, on account of the magnificent for- 
ests, and the King at once prefixed Penn, in honor of 
the great Admiral. Penn objected, appealed, and at 
last offered twenty guineas to the Secretary to alter 
it, fearing that it would bring discredit upon him if he 
allowed the great province to bear his family name. 
Charles insisted, and the patent, drawn up in the usual 
form, is still in the otfice of the Secretary of State at 
Harrisburg. To Penn the reception of this charter 
was the crowning event of his life, and he wrote : 

"God hath given it to me in the face of the world. . . 
He will bless and make it the seed of a nation." 

For months he labored with Sidney upon the Con- 
stitution. The rigid one drawn up by John Locke and 
Shaftsbury had failed, and Penn determined to simpl)- 
make an essentially democratic basis for his form of 
government, and leave all "minor details to be tilled in 



42 A SYLVAN CITY. 



as time, events and the pnl)lic ijood demanded." The 
rough draft in form, Si(hiev and himself delil)erated over 
every phase, the nuitual labor being so intriciilc and 
continuous that the exact share of each will never be 
determined. Completed at last, the news quickly si)read 
that the great religious democrat of the age had become 
sole owner of a mighty ])r<nince, and from every great 
town in the three kingdoms, as well as from Holland, 
agents were sent to confer as to terms of emigration and 
settlement. The Royal Society made him a member, in 
order to obtain the benefit of his scientific observations, 
and steady preparation for the voyage went on. The 
death of I.ady Penn, always a fond and devoted mother, 
delayed everything for a time, and Penn's family atliilrs, 
which he arranged as if never to be among them again, 
were long in adjusting. He clung to wife and children 
with a longing tenderness, but (Juli's courage was 
stronger even than his own. He doubted his return, 
but she nevei- did. and, ehei'red by her faith and carry- 
ing the good will of every earne>t heart, the Quaker sol- 
dier went on board the Welrrniic at Deal, and on the first 
of September weighed anchor, and, i)ushing b(ddly out 
to sea, soon felt the winds that bore him toward the 
Sylvan City, still formless, save in its builder's mind. 



THE CITY OF A DREAM. 



There is a certainty in the mind of the average 
reader that as the Pilgrim Fathers landed on Pl3^mouth 
Rock, so Pcnn landed at Philadelphia, the sense of 
vagueness encompassing most facts of early colonial life 
being even stronger here than in the case of some occur- 
rences actually less familiar. But the city in 1(382 was 
still the city of a dream, a dream begun in youth and the 
brooding days at Oxford, and now transferred from mind 
to paper, the plan, drawn in part 1)y Holme from Penn's 
instructions, being the latter's constant companion. 
Over the spot where to inward vision, streets, squares, 
houses and docks were plain, trees still waved and not 
a foundation stone had been laid. 

" According to its original design, Philadelphia was 
to have covered with its houses, squares and gardens 
about twelve square miles. Two noble streets — one of 
them fiicing an unrivaled row of red pines — were to front 
the rivers, a great public thoroughfare alone separating 
the houses from their banks. These streets were to be 
connected l\y the High Street, a magnificent avenue per- 
fectly straight and a hundred feet in Avidtli, to be 
adorned with lines of trees and gardens surrounding the 
dwelling houses. At a right angle with the High Street 
43 



44 A SYLVAN CITY. 

and of equal width, Broad Stivi-t was to cut the city in 
two from north to south. It was thus divided into four 
sections. In the exact centre a large puldic square of 
eight acres was set apart for the comfort and recreation 
of posterity. Eight streets fifty feet wide were to he huilt 
parallel to Broad Street, and twenty of the same widtli 
parallel to the rivers. Penn encouraged the Iniilding of 
detached houses, with rustic porches and trailing i)lants 
ahout llifin, his desire l)eing to see riiiladelphia 'a 
greene country towne.' " 

With this vision always before him, the voyage ended 
at last and the little com[»any of faithful people, worn 
by nine weeks of battling, not oidy witliwind and wave, 
but with the small-pox — which had l)roken out directly 
after starting, killed thirty and left many others weak, 
depressed and unlit for the lal)or awaiting them — sailed 
up the Delaware, and the Welcome drojiped anchor at 
the little Swedish town of Upland, or ()i)tland, then the 
chief town of the i>rovince. A single i)ine marked the 
spot at which Penn stepped on shore, and as he touched 
the new soil he turned to Pearson, who had l)een his com- 
panion and IViend.and requested from him a name that 
should commemorate this first moment of possession. 
Too modest to give his own name, Pearson suggested, 
''Chester, in reinembrance of the city whence I came,'' 
and Chester it remains to-day, a quaint and curi- 
ous town, which for some time hoped and expected (o 
become the city Penn bad planned. Here, in the 
Friends' Meeting House, a jtlain l»rick building opi)osite 



THE CITY OF A DREAM. 47 



sembly was called, and the Frame of Government and 
the Provisional Laws already published in England 
were discussed. Delaware sent her representatives ; 
the two provinces were declared united ; twenty-one 
new laws were added to the forty already formed, and 
at the end of a three days' session the colonists, having 
founded a state and secured for themselves and their 
posterity both civil and religious freedom, returned to 
their plows and the quiet round of every-day life. 

Penn\s first step was to visit the various seats of gov- 
ernment in New York, the Jerseys and Maryland, and, 
at the last point. Lord Baltimore came out to meet him 
with a retinue of all the principal persons of the pro- 
vince. No amicable arrangement as to boundary seemed 
possible, and, giving up the hope of adjusting conflict- 
ing opinions, Penn first settled all questions as to the 
purchase and division of land and turned then to the 
plan for the new city. 

Holme, Avho had been for six months surveying the 
province, agreed that the best site was the narrow 
neck of land at the junction of the Delaware and 
Schuylkill. Clay, for brick-making, abounded on the 
spot, and immense stone quarries were but a few miles 
away. The entire land was owned by three Swedes, 
from whom the Governor bought it on their own terms, 
their settlement including only a few log huts and caves, 
with a little church where loop-holes served as window 
lights, or ''for firearms in case of need," while all be- 



48 A STL VAX CITY. 



yoiid was the iinbrokon forest of "Wiecjicoa. At Passa- 
juiigh was the wliite-iiut wood hut of Sveii Sehiite, the 
Commander, and not far away a sturdy Uttle fort of lojjs 
liUed in with sand and stones hade (k'lianee to all ene- 
mies, whether white or Indian. For ten years the 
Swedes within a radius of lifleen miles had gathered in 
the little hloek-house, listening to the Postilla read to 
them hy the trend)ling voice of Anders Bengtssen, a 
weak old man. and at intervals they s(«nt out aj^peals 
for some teacher who might for their souls' sake come 
to them in the Avilderness. 

In 1()',)7 the prayer was granted, and the three mis- 
sionaries sent hy Charles XI arrived, and proceeded 
very shortly to hnild the little church, still standing at 
the corner of ( "hristian and Swanson Streets. The great 
l)eechwood trees in which it was set havi' disai)peared. 
The church, l)anke(l in Avitli sunken grave-stones, is just 
above a 1 )usy wha it', and < )hly the names of its founders re- 
main, some of them cut in the slate atones in the ^Mother 
country and sent over. Sven ScluUe, called l>y Queen 
Christina her ''hravi' and fearless lieutenant." sleeps 
here, with many a forgotten IV'terssen and liengtssen, 
head-stones and graves alike lost l(» sight. To the little 
church, whose carvings and l)ell and communion service 
were all gifts of (lie King. (Quakers, Swedi'saiid Indians 
thronged, " marveling at the magnilicent structure, "and 
for years after the founding of the actual city it was re- 
garded with pride. AVilson, the ornithologist, wor- 
shiped heri'. and lies now in the churchyard, where he 



THE CITY OF A BREAM. 



49 




begged to be buried, 
because it was "a 
silent, shady place, 
where the birds 
would be apt to 
come and sing over 
his grave. ^' Kalm, 
the naturalist, sent 
out from the Uni- 
versity at Upsala 
to examine the tlora of Xorth America, had a 
plact' in the shadowy little pews, and his name 
remains to us in the laurel taken home by him with 
many another strange plant ; and named by Linnaeus, in 



WEATHER VANE FROM GRIST 
MILL IX DELAWARE COUNTY 
OWNED BY WILLIAM I'ENX, 
SAMUEL CARPENTER AND 
CALEB I'USEY. 



50 A SYLVAN CTTY. 

his honor, Kalmia. And there also lies a quiet woman, 
Hannah, wife of oS^icholas Collin, the last of the 
Swedish missionaries, who, through all straits of pov- 
erty and disease, went her way till the strife ended 
and the undemonstrative and silent lni.--l);uul w rijte over 
her : 

"In ]\Ieinory of her piety, neatness and economy and of 
the gentleness of the Affection with which she sustained 
him through many trying Years ; and of his Grief for her, 
which shall not cease until he shall meet her in the land 
of the living."' 

Before a house had been Iniilt, arrivals poured in. 
Twenty-three vessels followed I'enn within six months, 
and the crowd of immigrants all wished to remain in 
the new city. Suffering was inevitable, but the enthu- 
siasm of the new undertaking was upon every one. 
Many camped under the huge pines of the forest ; many 
more became cave-dwellers, though not a trace re- 
mains of this supremely uncomfortable life shared by 
rich and jxtor alike. The sod-houses of Nebraska 
and Kansas ai)proach more nearly to the Philadelphia 
"caves" than any form of dwelling kn(»wn at the 
present day to refugee or colonist. The caves were 
" formed by digging three or four i'eet into the ground, 
near the verge of the rivcr-fronl l)ank, thus making 
half the chamber underground ; the remaining half 
aljove ground was tbrmed of sods of earth, or earth 
and l)rush combined. The roofs were formed of layers 
of limbs or split pieces of trees, overlaid with sod or 
bark, river rushes, etc. The chimneys were of stones 







* ■•vxri-vi . 

GLORIA. DEI (old SWEDES') CHURCH. 



THE CITY OF A BREAM. 53 

and river pebbles mortared together with cla}^ and 
grass or river reeds." 

Here, while the building went on, delicate women who 
had known only luxur}- in England worked with Saxon 
energy, helping fathers and husl)ands — bringing in 
water, cutting wood, tending pigs and sheep and poul- 
tr}^ even carrying mortar, or helping saw a block of 
w^ood. Through all weariness and discouragement, the 
memory of " woful Europe" acted as a spur, and within 
a few months Penn was able to write to the Society of 
Traders that eighty houses and cottages were ready. 

The foundation of the Guest house had been laid be- 
fore Penn's arrival, and as he stepped from the open 
boat in which he had come from Chester to the ''low 
and sandy beach" where Dock Creek emptied into the 
Delaware, the builders flocked to the shore. The point 
seemed in every way the best suited for tavern, ferr}' 
and general place of business, and Guest's house became 
from that date the Blue Anchor Inn, being then and for 
many years "beer-house, exchange, corn-market, post- 
office and landing place." This first public building was 
formed of wooden rafters filled in with bricks brought 
from England, like houses still to be seen in Cheshire, of 
the Tudor and Stuart periods. It had a frontage of 
twelve feet on the river, and ran back twenty-two feet 
into what was afterwards called Dock Street. The ferr)^ 
crossed Dock Creek to Societ}' Hill, recorded as " having 
its summit on Pine Street and rising in graceful gran- 
deur from the precincts of Spruce Street," and a ferry 



54 A SYLVAN CITY. 

also carried persons to Windmill Island, where grain 
was ground by a windmill, or to the Jersey shore. l\'n 
other houses, known as Budd's Long Row, stretched 
northward, all l^uilt of wood in precisely the same man- 
ner, filled in with small bricks, the fittings and fur- 
nishings having been brought from England. 

Within a year of Penn's arrival a hundred houses, 
man}' of them of stone with pointed roofs, balconies and 
porches, had been built. Three hundred farms were 
settled and the first crops harvested, and sixty vessels 
had arrived in the Delaware. Before the second year 
ended six hundred houses stood complete, and the Gov- 
ernor wrote with honest and pardonable exultation 
to Lord Sunderland : " With the help of God and such 
noble friends I will show a province in seven years equal 
to her neighbor's of forty years' planting.'' 

Massachusetts, founded by scholars, i)rinted no book 
nor paper till eighteen years after her liist si'ttlement. 
In New York seventy-three j'ears passed before a print- 
ing-press was deemed essential, while in Virginia and 
Maryland the mere mention of one was regarded Ijy 
their governors as anarchy and treason. But a printer, 
William Bradford, of Leicester, went out with Penn in 
the Welcome, and when the first stress of building was 
over, set up his press, printing an Almanac for 1(JS7, 
which had of course been set up the preceding year. 
Schools had come first, Enoch Flower having biiilt a 
rude hut of pine and cedar planks, divided in two i)arts 
by a wooden i)artition ; and here in December, 1083, the 




SEAL OF PENN'S COLONY. 



THE CITY OF A DREAM. 



children came together, and the mhiutes of the town 
council record both charges and curriculum : 

"To learn to read, four shillings a quarter; to write, 
six shillings ; boarding a scholar — to wit, diet, lodging, 
washing and schooling — ten pounds the whole year." 

Schools and press were the key-note of the new colony, 
and within six months from its landing one other unno- 
ticed event indexed its intellectual and moral status as 
nothing else could have done. The Swedes, who re- 
tained in full the superstitious terror of their northern 
solitudes, brought before the Council a miserable old 
woman accused as Avitch. Conviction would have been 
pardonaljle in a day when men like Kichard Baxter and 
Cotton Mather recorded their faith in "a god, a devil 
and witchcraft," while even George Eox believed in 
witches and his own power to overcome them. The 
Governor listened quietly-, no clue to his real thought 
on the benevolent face ; summed up to the jury, com- 
posed half of English, half of Swedes, in order to pre- 
vent dissatisfaction with the verdict, and waited for the 
result. Decision was speed}'. They found her guilt}^ 
of having the reputation of witchcraft, l)ut not guilt}' 
in manner or form as indicted. Her friends were merely 
required to give securities for her that she would keep 
the peace. A half smile was on the Governor's face as 
he left the court-room, and thus ended the first and last 
witch trial in the State of Pennsylvania. 

To-day, between Chestnut and Market, Second and 
Front, the searcher for old landmarks will find the 



58 A SYLVAX CITY. 



house built and occupied by Peiin during his first visit. 
Bricks, wooden carving and "servants to put them in 
place," came over together from England. 

" Pit<'h iny house in the middle of the town, facing 
the harbor," he had written to his connnissioners the 
year before, and this would seem to settle the still vexed 
question as to which house in Letitia Court is to be con- 
sidered the original one, the one on the west side an- 
swering this description, and having been idi-ntifu'd l)y 
a KoV)ert Venables, who knew it from a child, and who 
died in ls:U at the age of ninety-eight. " A great and 
stately pile " was ])uilt at I?ennsbnry, near Trenton, the 
forest land sweeping down to the lU-laware, the deer 
ranging at will in this natural i)aik ; but through his 
first visit the (Governor preferred the little house with 
its nearness to all business interests. Later he moved 
to what is known as Slate-Hoof House, at the southeast 
corner of Norris Alley and Second Street, and at his 
second visit, in 17(MI, transfernnl the little house to his 
daughter Letitia, for whom in time the court was named. 
Both houses have pas-ed through various transitions, the 
larger one being after Penn's occupancy left in cliarge 
of .James Logan, his secretary, and used as a govern- 
ment house. But before this, sorrow of every sort had 
come to the Crovernor. Tolitical ditli(adties arising from 
Lord Baltimore's ambition and «letermined pushing of 
his personal claims ; his Avife dangerously ill ; his dearest 
friend, Algernon Sidney, a victim by the block, and 
Shaftesbury and Essex in prison ; persecutions raging 



THE CITY OF A DREAM. 



59 



against all noii-conformers, and his own enemies at 
work. To return to England was al)solutely necessar}-, 
but he went with a heavy heart, leaving behind a letter 
in which he apostrophises the city of his love : 




PENN'S house IX LETITIA STREET. 



''And thou, Philadelphia, the virgin settlement of this 
province, named before thou wast born, what love, what 
care, what service and what travail has there been to bring 
thee forth and preserve thee from such as would abuse and 
defile thee ! My soul prays to God for thee, that thou 
mayest stand in the day of trial, that thy children may be 
blessed of the Lord, and thy people saved by His power." 



60 A SVf.VAy CITY. 



There was need of such prayer far l)eyond his own 
knowledge or worst apprclicnsion, for, seek as he might, 
niaiiy years went by before he saw again the city whose 
foundations were in his very soul. They were hard 
years, and few lives hold r('C(trd of d('«'i)er tragedy than 
tilled every one. With the ehange of dynasty and its 
endless complications eanie a disaster which for a time 
threatened utter ruin. An order of the Council, which 
regarded him as the friend of the exiled King, deprived 
him of the government of his })rovince and annexed it to 
>»^Mv York, and the place of the wise and far-sighted 
(ToveiMior was given to a man, ''a mere soldier, coarse, 
al»rui)t and uidettered," a stranger to the founder's ideas 
and intentions. That the charter was still valid and the 
wiiole action illegal could not liinder ))resent harm, but 
more than a year passed before the course of atlhirs 
could be changed. Xot until thirty months of constant 
labor and l)itter anxiety were ended was the order re- 
voked. King William becoming convinced of his own 
mistake ; but the restoralion came too latelbr the wife, 
who had sickened and i)incd through the sorrowful 
waiting, dying at last in l'enn"> arms. llis oldest 
son, Springett, owning the >wci'lest and nol)lest traits 
of both father and mothei-. was in a decline. Le- 
titia and AVilliam were the oidy remaining children, 
the latter his lu'ir, but totally unlike the elder 
brother, being a rei)roduetion of all the worst as 
well as some (»f llie best jjoinls (»!' liis grandfather, the 
Admiral. Yearn as l*enn might tor the quiet of Penn- 



THE^ CITY OF A BllEAM, 61 

sylvania, it was impossible to leave this favorite son, 
and six years passed after the restoration of his rights be- 
fore he again set foot in his own provinee. The years 
without Guli had been full of anxious forebodings, for 
nothing in the son gave promise that the eolony eould 
prosper in his hands, and, helpless under many house- 
hold diffieulties, a second marriage seemed the natural 
solution. Hannah Callowhill, long known and a valued 
friend, was his choice ; not only a notable housewife 
but a woman of extraordinary sense and spirit and 
equal executive ability, who in later j^ears became the 
real ruler of the province, and wdiose name is perpetu- 
ated in one of the northern streets of the city. Of the 
six children of this marriage John Penn, known as 
"the American," was the only one born here, the 
event taking place in the " Slate-Roof House," just one 
month after their arrival. The fact seems not to have 
increased his love for America, every one of Penn's de- 
scendants manifesting as much eagerness to get away 
from the province as their progenitor had felt to reach it. 
Pirates and contraband traders swarmed in the rivers, 
and one of the Governor's tirst acts was to call the As- 
sembly together and urge an al)andonment of the non- 
resistance policy. By early spring he had succeeded in 
this and various other measures for the good of the set- 
tlement, the chief of these being its formal incorpora- 
tion as a city, with charter, ]S[ayor and other city ofii- 
cers. Though founded in so short a time, the colony 
had increased till equal in number to those of more 



62 A SYLVAN CITY 



than double its years, Init the colonists unfortunately 
shared too litlU' in the spirit <»r tlic toundcr, and " pas- 
sion and ;;ra>pini^ restlessness" were Ijoth at work in 
diseouraijini;- iashion. 

J I is family had l>een settled at l*ennsl)ury, whieh had 
been huiU and Iiirnished in a style helittini!; the Gover- 
nor of a i:;reat provinee, :ind the freest hosj)itality was 
exercised. The peeuliar eostunie of later Friends was 
unknown. I'enn himself wore ihe full-bottomed wig of 
the period, and l)ounht four in one year, while the dress 
of ids wife and daughter was quite in harmony with 
sueh expenditure. The wealthier w omen at tliat time 
wore ''white satin petticoats, worked in tlowers, pearl 
satin gowns, or peach-colored satin cloaks ; their white 
necks were covered with delicate lawn, and they wore 
gi)U\ chains and seals, engraven with their arms.'' 

Penn's cellar was well stocked with fme wines, and he 
enjoyed good living, though always lempei'alely. His 
passion for boating still remained, and wherever possi- 
])le he went from settlement to settlement in his yacht, 
and about the country on one of the line horses brought 
from England. 1 1 is charities were continuous, and some 
of the best i)ages in his history are the items of his private 
cash-book, while he bent every energy to alterations in 
the constitution and a l)etter shaping of every law. Had 
his own i)rovisions remained in force, and even ''ten 
righteous men '' been found filled with the same unsel- 
fish zeal, the city would have been even now far in ad- 
vance of any idher assenddage of Ijrick and mortar on 











ilii[iyiiiiiii,iiiiiiiiiiji=.=^ 



THE CITY OF A DREAM. 65 

the continent ; but month by month it fell below the 
founder's standard. At his second coming, and even as 
late as 1720, there were but four streets running parallel 
with the Delaware, while in 177G "the town extended 
only from Christian to Callowhill Streets, north and 
south, and houses built as far west as Tenth Street 
might fairly be classed as country seats." 

The "great houses " described in a map of 1720, still 
to be seen in London, were really small, two-storied 
buildings, no larger than those now occupied by the 
average artisan, and back of all lay the still nearly un- 
broken forest, drained by muddy creeks which cut the 
city into several sections before emptying into the Dela- 
ware. Penn\s enforced and sudden return to England 
allowed the beginning and growth of many abuses, 
against which he struggled with such energy as was 
possible, until his final sale of the province many years 
later. Market-houses tilled up the centre of High Street, 
which he had intended should be free and unobstructed. 
The open stalls gradually lengthened out, not only here, 
but at many other points, the latest relic of these being 
the old market-house at the corner of Second and Pine 
Streets. Frankford, Roxborough, Germantown and 
many another hamlet grew up slowly on the outskirts, to 
be eventually swallowed by the growing city and form 
the bewildering and involved arrangement of streets 
here and there contradicting and disconcerting the right- 
angled regularity of the original plan. 

Time and business exigencies have claimed most of the 



66 A SYLVAy^ CITY. 

old fjitef*, and few landmarks remain ; but, every now and 
then, may still Ijc seen a liousf of the black and red 
p]nglish brick with the hipped-roof and pieturesqiie out- 
line of an earlier day. Germantown has still several 
specimens unaltered, ''except by the removal of the 
projecting stoop on the second story, Imilt as a vantage 
ground in case of an expected attack from the Indians, 
who never came." 

Prosperity was the law of the city, and, with comfort 
and even luxury increasing year by year, the people set- 
tled into comparative indifterence to anything beyond 
material progress. The Quaker poor had been jtrovided 
for as early as 1712 by an almshouse on the south side 
of Walnut Street, above Third, a portion of the old 
building standing till the ('enti'unial year, when the 
space was fdled with business hcnises. It was a collec- 
tion of small cottages, each with its occupant, set in the 
midst of a (ptaiut old garden. The City Poorhouse was 
"on a green meadow," extending from Spruce to Pine 
Streets and from Third to Fourth, and, contrary to all 
accepted l)elief and statement, it was here, and not in 
the Quaker Almshouse, that Evangeline found Gabriel. 
The latter was simply an asylum for their own aged 
})oor and never used as hospital, while contemporary 
records show that the former swarmed with fever and 
cholera patients, and that the Sisters of Charity acted 
as nurses through both epidemics. Custom is stronger 
than tact or reason, and pilgrim> will >till fall before the 
wrong shrine ; though, as both are covered by business 



sr*. 



i iLfinrT-',-^^,^,,,^^^^ 


















THE CITY OF A BREAM. 



houses, thrills of emotion may l)e experienced with equal 
facility at either point. 

The need for prisons made itself felt in 1682, when 
"the Council ordered that William Clayton, one of the 
Provisional Council, should build a cage against next 
Council day, of seven feet long by five feet broad." A 
private dwelling house was fitted up for the second, and 
a third and more substantial one was l)uilt in 1G85, in 
the centre of High Street, and indicted as a common 
nuisance in 1702, Penn having protested against that 
and mau}^ other violations of the original plan. A much 
more elaborate stone building at the corner of Third 
and High, known till after the Revolution as "the old 
Stone Prison," was the seed of the present famous 
structures, and with self-government for the colony be- 
gan the reforms in prison discipline adopted in full 
years before other States considered the subject worthy 
of attention. 

The Quaker Pest-house disappeared long ago, to be 
replaced by the Pennsylvania Hospital, at Eighth and 
Pine streets, the original building still forming a small 
wing to the present one. 

On Chestnut street above Third stood the hall of the 
"Honorable Society of Carpenters," memora])le always 
as the meeting place of the first Continental Congress, 
the State House, though finished, being then occupied 
by the Provincial Assembly. But these, though essen- 
tially a part of old Philadelphia, are of another era, and 
before their buildino- had come a time when the mind of 



A SYLVJlN' city. 



the founder ceased to influence the city it had planned, 
and after long experience of neglect, dishonesty, in- 
gratitude and every wrong which seems to spring natu- 
rally from the possession of unearned and undeserved 
privileges, Penn transferred all right and title in the 
disappointing colony to the Crown, retaining only his 
Governorship. "The Holy Experiment'"' remained holy 
only to the originator, and so far as lay in their power 
the people of IMiihulelphia ignored his wishes, set aside 
many of his provisions in the Constitution, and in the 
midst of the crowding misfortunes into which, through 
the treachery of his steward, he was precijiitalcd, sought 
only to wring from them the largest amount «^f conces- 
sion for themselves. The years that follow hold much 
the same record, and tiiough Logan and a few devoted 
friends did their hest to carry out his system and ideas, 
the city ceased to represent the mind of its founder. 

To one man alone the ideal had come, and it would 
seem tliat when failing powers and fortuni's had done 
their worst, tlu* great soul was allowed to transfer 
its ideals to a mind more practical, and thus in the end 
more successful. Pliila(leli)liia's story W(»ul(l iuive ended 
then and there, so far as anything but material i)rogress 
and prosperity were concerned, hut for the mind of Ben- 
jamin Franklin, who gave llu' fn-st impetus toward in- 
tellectual life, and whose name might justly stand as 
the founder and originator of every means of genuine 
growth. 

" Schools, universities, free churches, publi • libraries. 



THE CITY OF A DREAM. 73 

drainage, fire and military companies, street lamps and 
street sweeping— every reform from the broad policy of 
the statesman to the smallest detail bears somewhere 
the bold scrawl, Franklin fecit. '>'> 

What Penn had hoped for was to come from no son 
of his. William, his successor, died from his excesses ; 
John visited his province, but returned with speed to 
the steady-going English life he preferred, and the 
family and descendants of the great non-conformist then 
and after became sleek and reputable Church of England 
men ; some with scholarly tastes, but not one with any 
marked portion of individuality, purpose or ability. 

The Quaker element of the city, though dominant, 
had intermixed with it a large population who were not 
so certain that all necessary wisdom could l)e obtained 
by the facility of an inward flash. Something of the libe- 
ral tone of a metropolis had gained upon it, until "by 
the close of the colonial age Philadelphia had grown to 
be the centre of a literary activity more vital and ver- 
satile than was to be seen anywhere else upon the con- 
tinent, except at Boston. In the ancient library of 
Philadelphia there are four hundred and twenty-five 
original books and pamphlets that were printed in that 
city before the Revolution," many of them being descrip- 
tions of the beauty and desirability of the province as a 
home. 

It was in 1712 that the first shock of paral5'sis fell 
upon Penn, who had borne then for ten years some of 
the heaviest burdens of his burdened life. There were 



74 A SYLVAX CITY. 

weeks of letlmrury, aiul nioiillis in which business wa>^ 
kei)t from him, the lirst att('m})t to attend to it result- 
ing in another sliock. Tlu-ongh it all, Ilanntih Penn 
managed the atlairs of his government with an energy 
and wisdom almost equal to his own, James I.ogan, 
in Philadelphia, writing every detail to her and con- 
tinuing the loyal serviee which had for many years 
made Penn's alfairs stand far before his own. 

"With a third and fmal shock all active mental lilc 
ended. There were live years in whieh he rested at 
Ruseombe, waiting for the end — years in which no trace 
of the (^uaki'r soldier remained, save the gentle, serene 
temper that even in sharpest contiict had never tailed 
those who loved him. A ehild again, he played with 
the abandoned children of his oldest son, wandering 
with them from room to room of the great house, and 
only troul)led when he discovered his wife writing. 
Though memory had gone, some vague sense of grief 
and difficulty seemed to associate itself with this inces- 
Bant correspondence, and at last it ])ecame necessary to 
carr}' it on secretly or at night. Friends watched him, 
and he clung to them though their nami's could not be 
recalled. At last in a summer morning, daybreak just 
visible in the sky, the end came. The City of a Dream 
had long since passed from his mind, and th(^ dreamer 
awoke now in a better '' city whose builder and maker 
is God." 



"CASPIPINA:" 

THE STORY OF A MOTHER CHURCH. 







^^, 



^' 



^■cr*.- 



^i^" 



ST. PLTEll'b OATE, 



In the old days 

in Philadelphia, 

when Christ 

Church and St. Peter's 

the "new church on 

the hill "—formed hut 
one parish, they had a 
rector and two assist- 
ants who were horn 
and hred Ph i lad el- 
phi an s. The rector 



was the Rev. Jacoh Duche, the assistants William AVhite 
and Thomas Coomhe. 

Mr. Duche had heen educated in England, and was 

75 



75 A SYLVAN- CITY. 

ordained by tlie Bishop of London upon the request of 
the vestry of Christ Cluu'ch, of wliicli his father was a 
member, for the express purpose of acting as assistant 
to Dr. Jenne\', who was then the rector of tlie church. 
The young fcUow was full of the spirit of his day, and, 
as "Junius," had set all England to public letter- 
writing, Mr. Duche had not been very long at home 
before he, too, printed his "Observations on a Variety 
of Sul)jects, J^iterary, Moral and Religious," describing 
himself as "a gentleman of foreign extraction," and 
signing himself "Caspipina," "an ingenious acrostic," 
which means " Christ and 8t. Teter's, in Philadelphia, 
in North America." The title is now over a hundred 
years old, but it covers the subject of this paper, and 
by its very quaintness suggests the spirit of the early 
colonial days, and carries us back to the fashions and 
life of the days when "Christ and St. Peter's" were 
growing into shape and inlluencing the history of the 
city and the church. 

When we think of life in early Philadelphia we recall 
William Penn and his group of Quaker friends, and the 
existence of a "Church party" seems of little import- 
ance. To Penn himself it was at first a matter of 
friendly indifference, but it soon began to show itself as 
an agitating force, busy and active, and in the history 
of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States 
Christ Church stands as a mother, sending her cliildren 
everywhere through the country, cheering them when 
at work and calliuii them back to her for counsel. In 



caspipina:' 79 



the history of the country she also has her place. Mr. 
Duche made the first prayer in Congress, Bishop White 
was the first chaplain, and Washington and many of his 
generals and statesmen worshipped witliin her walls. 
The day Independence was declared her bells were 
rung, the vestry struck out the name of the King from 
the liturgy and took his bust from the wall. Her rector, 
William White, was the first bishop of English conse- 
cration in the United States, and his first sermon in his 
new position was preached in St. Peter's Church. In 
Christ Church was held the first General Conventiim 
of the Church ; here our American prayer-book was 
adopted, and in the long years since 1694, when it was 
founded, what a hue of bishops, of priests, of deacons, 
of communicants, of old and young, clergy and laity, 
has gone from these old walls ! The bells have pealed 
for hundreds of weddings and tolled for as many fune- 
rals, and the babe who was liaptized in its font has been 
carried back in old age and laid before its altar, and then 
taken away to rest in its churchyard. There are few 
old families in the city who have not some link with the 
history of " Caspipina," and how many churches and 
missions in the country have looked to them when help 
was needed. 

When William Penn, in 1682, came up the Delaware 
River he came with a well-settled plan. He had no 
vague ideas of flying somewhere in a new world for 
refuge and prosperity. Other men filled with as much 
energy and resolution had had less purpose, and had 



80 A SYLVAy CITY. 



boldly pushed for foreign shores, making a home on lh«« 
first spot to which Providence or chance led them. 
Penn looked much farther ahead, and had hi> plan- 
made before he started. He had selected a fair and 
fertile country and had secured a grant of il Irnm ilic 
king, and meant, being })rovidenl and ix'acetiil, a> well 
as energetic, to have his title ratitled Ity the oiigiual 
owners. He had decided upon the names (»!' his pr<»- 
vince and its future city< and the plan of the latter, 
founded, it is said, on that of Babylon, lay clear and de- 
tinite in his mind. Before his prophetic vision the forests 
disappeared, and a •"green country town, always whole- 
some," embowered in gardens, peaceful and })rospi'rous, 
'' lay betwixt its rivers." He meant this city to l)e free 
to all good people, sober and of honest repute, l)ut his 
tirst concern was, of course, for his own friends. It was 
to hold its gates open to all sects, but it was to be gov- 
erned In' the Quakers, and all settlers were exjiected to 
agree with the spirit that should animate the laws and 
their working. The invitation Penn sent out was so 
broad and so enticing that he soon had a larger following 
than any other single leader into the Xew AVorld, l)ut 
he drew very few vagal)onds and soldiers of fortune. It 
was a fair country he offered, but it was to be pervaded 
by law and order, an<l the conditions were not of advan- 
tage to the free-lances. But with the Friends from 
l.ondon, and York, and Cheshire, and all parts of Eng- 
land, came also their neighbors and relations who were 
still Churchmen. These were not tleeing from persccu- 



'' CASPIPmA.'' 8t 

tion, but were energetic, educated younger sons, and 
men of the middle class, who determined to secure better 
fortunes than England gave them. They soon became 
a prosperous and intiuential element in the Pennsylva- 
nia colony, and, as was inevitable, became also a dis- 
turliing power. The Churchmen were law-abiding, but 
they were not Quakers, and they did not agree with 
many of the plans and usages of Penn's administration, 
and they were very open on the subject. For some 
years, however, all went quietly enough. The forest 
was to be cleared away, homes built, communication 
established, and there was as much unity as industry. 
The Swedes had their church and the Friends their 
meeting-house, and it is likely the Church people went 
to either one or the other. Their own Church was very 
scantily represented in the colonies, and along the 
twelve hundred miles of sea-coast, dotted here and there 
with English settlements, were few ministers and fewer 
churches. The chaplain at the fort in New York tra- 
veled about as he could, but in neither Pennsylvania, 
the Jerseys, Xew York or New England was there a 
resident clergyman. 

This condition of aftairs was much talked about in 
certain circles, and in 16D5 the Bishop of London sent 
the llev. Mr. Clayton to Philadelphia, to do what was 
possiljle. AVhen he came he did not find a large congre- 
gation, but he drew about fifty people together ; they 
held regular service, and at once began to build a little 
brick church oil a lot of ground by a pond, where the 



83 A SYLVAN CITY. 

ducks swam and the boys waded. " Blind Alice,'' an 
ancient colored woman, often quoted by the early histo- 
rians, said that she could touch the roof with her hand, 
but tliis is considered somethin<^ of an exaggeration, un- 
less the good lady grew very nuich shorter as she grew 
older. Jhit, no matter how low the building was, it 
was considen-d very handsome and very much of an 
enteri)rise ; and before ^Ir. Clayton died, two years 
after. Ids congregation had grown to seven hundred, 
and there are parishes to-day that cannot l)oast as 
nnicli prosperity, and certainly not as quick growth! 
Many of these new memliers were converts from 
Quakerism, and this did not please the Penn party, and 
when, in 1700, Dr. Evan Evans came to take Mr. Clay- 
ton's place, and entered upon his duties with keen- 
sighted and steady enthusiasm, the young Friends were 
forl)idden to attend the services. They had flocked 
there full of curiosity, and the broad-brims had come 
oft' in church as they never did in nu'cting. Xow when 
the edict went out that they should not enter the doors, 
they were not pleased. Anuiscments were not plenty 
•in Philadelphia, and it was hard to be deprived of this 
serious, if vain form. So then, V)eing used to obeying 
the letter of the law, if not the spirit, they stood under 
the wind(iws and listened, and by-and-])y, conviction 
giving courage, how many nuist have entered the door 
and forever left the broad-brim hat behind ! The coun- 
try Friends coming in to the market had their own 
curiosity about this new vanity, and were moved to go 



^^^ V-^ < ff*\ ' - — - ^-. . ^ rf » / • • 't ag • y . » C 



I \ v^ 



fftHr'Lltf'^ii'^^i.iti'WL-?-' .,V!tii..L,^ i:^^/:-^^-.^ 






^....'■M •,..■.;,"_.«, (..vJ .M«3J*.. 










CASPIPmAy 85 



and see what it was like, and, l)eliold, it was nothing 
new ! What they heard was simply tlie old service 
familiar to so many of them, and they liked it. It 
brought back memories of their childhood, of England, 
and of the mothers who had died content in the old 
faith ; and, as they listened to the prayers and chants 
they knew so well, l)ut in which they now dared not 
join, old affections fought with new doctrines, and man}' 
went home disturbed and discontented, to return again 
and again to the little brick church and at last to come 
for baptism. This went on until new members were 
numbered by the hundreds, and Dr. Evans' zeal grew 
stronger and stronger. He held service on Sunday and 
on holy da3^s, on Wednesday and Friday, on market 
days, and at last, all through the week of Yearl}' iSIeet- 
ing when the Quakers from all around the country were 
in town. He wore a surplice, and William Penn wrote 
to James Logan that " Governor Gookin has presented 
Parson Evans with two gaudy prayer-books as an}- in 
the Queen's Chapel, and intends as fine a conununion 
table also, both of which charms the Bishop of London 
as well as Parson Evans, whom I esteem." 

In the midst of all this there came a reinforcement to 
the Church. The venerable "Society fn* the Propaga- 
tion of the Gospel in Foreign Parts," just organized in 
London, sent George Kinth over as a missionary, and in 
all the country around no man was better known, better 
hated, better liked than George Keith. He had been 
the first Master of the Friends' Public School in the 



86 A SYT.VAN CITY. 

city and a zealous follower of (Jcoroe Fox. As a public 
Friend he had led many a nu'etini;- and written and 
spoken man}' an earnest word for his faith. After a 
time he began to have doubts, and to speak of them, 
and still having great influence, he led five hundred 
good Quakers out of meeting into a separate society 
which was called by its enemies '' The Keithian.'' He 
was excommunicated and was spoken of as '' an ill-con- 
ditioned, pestilent fellow,'' who gave a great deal of 
trouble. On the other hand, to make matters even, the 
history of theChurch speaks of him as an able and zeal- 
ous man, who gave great joy and satisfaction to tlu' 
people by returning in the character of a minister of 
the Church of England. With him came the Hev. Mr. 
Talbot, who was afterward the rector of St. Mary's, 
Burlington, X. J. These; two missioniirieb traveled 
around the country, and, in 17U4, there were >»ix ehurches 
in and near Philadelphia. 

By this time the little building used by the Christ 
Church people was too small and the}' ordered thirt\- 
seven thousand bricks from England and began to build 
around the okl church, which lay like a kernel in a nut 
while the new walls went up. They had now a com- 
munion service, ])resented by Queen Anne, which is vtill 
in use, and two bells, both of which were afterward 
sent to St. Peter's, but are now hung in Christ Cliurch 
Hospital. When the time came to tear down the old 
church the congregation went down to ''Old Swedes' " 
and worshipped there with their Lutheran brethren. 



caspipina: 



87 



y/f 



<2r-t«^*i 



Penn was now in England, 
(considering whetlier lie should 
transfer his province to the 
Crown, and the Governor in 
his place heing a Churchman, 
l3uilt a pew in Christ Church, 
and then charged himself an 
annual rent of five pounds a 
year for it. The grave3\ard. 
Fifth and Arch, where the 
vestryman, Benjamin Frank- 
lin, was afterward buried, was 
bought, a library founded, and 
there was no lack of interest 
or enterprise. 

In the meantime there had 
arisen some complications in 
civil affairs, and the town was 
divided into two parties, one 
the "Penn government," the 
other ''the Church faction," 
as the early historians are 
pleased to put it. The Quakers 

were loyal enough to England, but they ignored the 
King as far as they could. This was their own pro- 
vince, and, as long as they were peaceable and law- 
abiding, why should the powers at home bother them ? 
The church people were restive under some of the 
Quaker rules, and longed for royal government, and 




ST. PETER S — THE FONT. 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



more tJian once sent petitions for it to the Kinij, and 
this Penn naturally enough resented. Then thei-e 
arose the question of a militia force. There were 
threats of invasion from Indians, and dreadful rumors 
of pirates from the Barbados who were sworn to sail 
up Delaware Bay and sack Philadelphia. Some of the 
Quakers were in favor of a militia, and the Chureli 
party certainly was. The only question was, who 
should serve in it V The whole body of Quakers an- 
swered at once to this — thei/ could not ! An armed 
resistance was opposed to all their principles. ''But 
some one nuist serve," replied the Church party. "Cer- 
tainly," said the Quakers, "and all of thee ought to do 
so, for it is not against thy religion." The Church people 
were not to be persuaded in this way. They were will- 
ing to drill and to tight, if there was need, but the other 
citizens must come also. They discussed this, and 
James Logan and other Friends wrote t^) England aljout 
it, yet neither Quaker nor Churchman would yield, but, 
as neither Indian nor pirate appeared, the only harm 
done was in the dissension among the citizens. 

In 1727 the congregation again found itself too large 
for its building, and, tearing out the western end, they 
began to build the present church. They looked for- 
ward to the future and resolved on final and ample ac- 
commodations, ])ut, unhappily, to accomplish their ol)- 
ject, they mortgaged their present and the coming days 
together. The congregation subscribed again and again ; 
help came from England, Ireland and the Barbados, 



caspipina:' 89 



and ill 1744, after many trouljles with debts, the Ijuild- 
ing was iinished. Then, in a few years, came the ques- 
tion of a steeple and chimes, and three hundred people 
at once subscribed to a fund for tliem. But it took a 
great deal more money than tliis subscription amounted 
to, and the vestry met to consider what was best to be 
done. It was decided to hold a lottery, and thirteen 
honest men and true, among them Benjamin Franklin 
and Jacob Duche, " Caspipina's " father, were appointed 
trustees for the " Philadelphia Steeple Lottery.'' The 
scheme succeeded very well, but still there was not 
enough, and so a second one was ordered and the needed 
sum was at last completed, ami, in 1754, the steeple, 
being all ready, the ship Mi/rtllla, Captain Budden, 
master, set sail from England, ijringing a chime of eight 
bells, costing £5G0 7s. 8d. A workman came to hang 
them ; Captain Budden refused all payment for bringing 
them, and the whole town became greatly excited over 
this addition to its "credit, beauty and prosperity." 
Every one wanted to hear the chimes, and it was or- 
dered they should be rung on market days, when the 
countrymen were in town. From Germantown and 
other villages the people would walk over the meadows 
and through the woods, until they were near enough to 
the city to hear the ringing and the chiming of the 
bells, and whenever the Mi/rtiUa was sighted down the 
river the chimes welcomed and announced it. The first 
time they were tolled was for the wife of Governor An- 
thony Palmer, whose twenty-one children had all died 



yo A SYLVAN CITY. 

of consumption, and, while the tolling Avas going on, a 
careless bell-ringer was caught in the ropes and killed ; 
and so some of the old Philadelphians were not sure 
that chimes were to be connncnded. 

Years after all this, the tenor bell, which weighed 
eighteen hundred pounds, was cracked, and, the story 
goes, the vestry tried here and there to replace it, but 
no foundry would promise to make another with Just 
the same tone and weight, and so the vestry were in de- 
spair, until it occurred to them that they had best see if 
the old English foundry, where the bells were made, was 
still in existence. Lester & Pack, the old partners, they 
found were dead long, long before, Ijut the younger linn 
sent back word that the old ])ell should be sent to them 
with the treble one to harmonize upon. They recast it, 
and when it came back — but not in the Miirtilla — and 
was hung in its place, it rang out perfectl}' true and in 
concord with the other bells. 

By this time, 1758, riiiladelphia was a fair and estab- 
lished city. The bluffs still bordered the Delaware Kiver, 
and green woods and fields ran back to the fine houses built 
on the Schuylkill. There were bridges over the creeks, 
and down in the city some paved streets. The houses 
had l)alconies and porches over the doorwaj^ and here 
in the cool of the evening the fathers sat and talked of 
the town news ; the mothers compared experiences and 
complained of the apprentices who lived in their houses, 
lender the shade of the button wood and willow trees 
the 3'oung gentlemen and otiicers, who called themselves 



caspipina: 



91 




"Lunarians," strolled up and down with bright young 
Churchwomen and coquettish Quaker girls. Before the 
constables went to bed they walked about to see if all 
was quiet, and here and there lanterns glimmed, light- 




iwjwm ' 



92 A SYLVAN CTTT. 

ing some old citizen from his sol)cr festivities. New 
York could be reached l)y John Butler's stage coaches 
in three days, and stage vessels and wagons started once 
a week for Baltimore. 

There were few politicians in the town, and no party 
lines drawn by politics. Opposite the State House, 
Sixth and Chestnut, stood the "State House Inn," 
built in lii'.)."). It was still shaded by the great walnut 
trees that had stood there l)efore the Welcome sailed 
fnmi England, and on its porch William Penn had 
once sat to smoke his })ipe. Here the lawyers, the 
plaintill's and defendants would meet and dine, and back 
in the kitchen little bow-legged dogs ran around in a 
hollow cylinder and turned the jack for roasting the 
meat. It was easy enough to keep these little " spit- 
dogs " at work, Init not so easy to call them to it. Once 
out of the cylinder away they would go, and when din- 
ner-time drew near the cooks Hocked out of their kitch- 
ens and ran here and there gathering their frisky little 
dogs together. In the houses there were ten-})late 
stoves, and later on. in rich men's parloi's. the Fi-anklin 
stove ; prudent women carried foot-stoves to church, 
and the most comfortable man was the (Quaker, because 
in meeting he kejjt on his hat, as well as his great-coat. 
In the gardens were lilacs and roses, lilies, snowballs, 
pinks and tulips ; and the housewives vied with each 
other in well-laden, symmetrical bushes of " Jerusalem 
cherries." 

The Presbyterians ami Baptists, the Methodists and 



"CASPIPmA.'' 93 



other dciioiuiiialious now bad their churches, and the 
Episcopahans in the southern part of the city felt they 
needed another church. The Christ Church vestry was 
Avarmly interested in the scheme, and the " proprieta- 
ries," the sons of WilUam Penn, and themselves Church- 
men — for Penn and his two wives were the only Friends 
in the family — gave a lot of ground between Third and 
Fourth and Pine and Lombard streets, and in 1758 St. 
Peter's, as it now stands, was begun. It was at this 
time that the minister and wardens of Christ Church 
sent a petition to the Bishop of London asking that 
young Jacob Duclie, then at Clare Hall, Cambridge, 
should he ordained and sent to his native parish, where, 
in consequence of a growing congregation and a new 
church, he was much needed. Long and wearisome 
Avere the correspondences between the colonial churches 
and the Bishop of London, and not unfrequent were 
their misunderstandings. The Church of England Avould 
not consent to give xVmerica a resident bishop, and an 
American candidate for holy orders sometimes had to 
cross the ocean twice, once to l)e ordained deacon and 
afterward priest. The Bishop of London appointed 
ministers to the various churches, and exercised a gene- 
ral episcopal supervision over them, without a personal 
acquaintance Avith their needs, and it was this reliance 
on the English Church wdiich in after years gave color 
to the charge of disloyalty during the Revolution. But 
at this time all went smoothly, and Mr. Duche came 
home ordained deacon and licensed to preach in Pliila- 



94 A SYLVAN CITY. 

delphia. The two churches were ver}^ closeh' united. 
They had the same vestry and tlie same minisUr>. The 
pew rents were equal, and their ir^terests were in every 
way identical. 

And so, the new building being fmished, on the 
fourth of 8ei)tember, 1701, the people met at Cliri^t 
Church and went in procession down to St, reler's — 
clerk and sexton at the head, then the questmen and then 
the vestry, two by two ; the Governor and the wardens, 
the orticiating clergymen, the Governor's council and at- 
tendants, and, finally, all attending clergymen. The 
youngest minister, our '' Caspipina," read all the ser- 
vice, except the absolution ; there was a bai)tism at the 
font, and Dr. Smith, provost of what is now tiie Uni- 
versity of Pennsylvania, preached the sermon. 

It is not difficult even now to picture this service. 
The old dignitaries, with queues and ruftles are all gone, 
but the high pews, the stone aisles, the pulpil wilh its 
sounding board, the green and grassy ehunhyanl still 
remain, and St. Peter's is, in eftect, to-day what it was 
over a hundred years ago, when Governor IVnn had his 
pew in the south gallery, and Benjamin Franklin came 
with other worshipiiers from the Mother church. 

After a few years had passed it happened that one of 
the two assistants, Mr. Sturgeon, resigned, and all the 
duties of the large parish fell on the rector. Dr. Peters, 
and Mr. Duche, and they felt a great desire to liave Mr. 
Coombe and young AVilliam White appointed as assist- 
ants. The vestry was willing, but it had cost hea\ily 



Unfi 







I fE 







, ^-^H-' I'^-^f^ 








'^ .^\ 




3T. PETER'S— THK PULPIT FROM WASHINGTON'S PEW. 



caspipina:' 97 



to build St. Peter's, and the revenues were not large. 
It was discussed, back and forth, and thially, the rector, 
who had a private ft^rtune, otlered to pay each of the 
young men one hundretl i)ounds, and, thus assisted, the 
vestry ofiered Mr. Coonibe two hundred' pounds — which, 
l>y the way, enabled him to marry — and to Mr. AVhite, 
with many compliments for his generous desire not to 
tax the income of the parish, they offered one hundred 
and fifty pounds. And thus, in 1772, William AVhite — 
who, as a little boy, used to tie an apron around his 
neck for a gown, and with a chair for a i)ulpil, Avould 
preach to his little Quaker neighbor — entered on his 
long and beautiful connection with the churches. 

AVhen 177G came the political excitement was general, 
and the churches were full of it. Dr. Peters had grown 
old and weak ; Mr. Duche had succeeded him, with 
Messrs. Coombe and AVhite as his assistants. AAHien 
Congress set May 17th aside as a day of fasting and 
prayer, there was service in both churches and fervent 
sermons were preached. Then came the Fourth of July, 
and it was then the vestry met and struck the name 
of the King from the liturgy, and took down his portrait 
from the wall. Mr. Duche had acted as chaplain to Con- 
gress, and his people were full of patriotism. 

As the war went on, the Episcopal Church, how- 
ever, began to realize its peculiar connection with the 
English government, a connection that no Declaration 
of Independence had yet severed. The long and per- 
sistent refusal of the English Church to give the Ameri- 



08 A SYLVAN CITY. 

cans a bisliop roniplicati'd malters and divided alle- 
giance It was not a question of Church and State, for 
this luid 1m (11 taeitly settled long l^eforc, and in a few 
colonies only was there a State tax to support the 
churches. This was a far more vital question, and struck 
at the i)iinciple of existence as an Episcopal Church. 
Without a ]iishop there could be no organization, no or- 
dination of priest or deacon, and so, in time, no admin- 
istration of the services and sacraments of the Church. 
If Americans now could have gone to England for or- 
dination it would have been refused to them as rebels, 
and if, on the <»ther hand, they had confessed themselves 
loyal, the .Vmciican congrc>gations would have repudi- 
ated them. I'or these reasons, the clergy found them- 
selves in a pi>r[)]exiiig position. They couhl not be true 
to the Church of England, of which they were still mem- 
l>ers, and to their country also, and everywhere there 
was confusion and uncertainty. Prayer was made for 
Congress in one parish and for George III in the next. 
Some of the clergy received their salaries from England, 
and in the South there were etl'orts made to seizi' church 
property and revenues on the ground that they still 
belonged to JOngland, and so should l)e c(mfiscated. 
Churches were closed, l)ecanse the ministers, not yet 
released from vows of allegiance, i)referred silence to 
action. 

In 1777 Mr. Coombe was arrested for disloyalty, and 
sent away with other prisoners, but he seems to have 
made his peace, as he was left in charge while Mr. 











CHRIST CHURCH FROM THE EAST. 






CASPIPINAr 101 



Duclie went to England to meet charges of disloyalty 
from the other side. Mr. Duche's position was rather 
singular. He had started out, it seems, with ardent 
patriotism, and was glad to oft'er prayers in the lirst 
meeting of Congress. In the first fever, he hoped and 
he helieved, but when reverses came he lost heart, and 
wrote a famous letter to General Washington, advising 
him to come to terms with the English Government 
while there was yet time. He possibly had more influ- 
ence over Mr. Coombe than over Washington, for the 
former soon followed him to England, but despondently 
enough, and, in a pathetic letter to the vestry, said : " To 
go into voluntary banishment from my native city, 
where it was ever my first pride to l)e a clergyman, to 
quit a decent competency among a people whom I atlec- 
tionately respect and love, and launch out upon the 
ocean of the world, is a hard trial for nature. When I 
consider my little family whom I leave ])ehind, and the 
difficulties to be encountered in providing them a heri- 
tage in a distant country, many painful ideas crowd into 
my ])osom. " These were some of the trials of the Tory, 
who had to choose between exile and hatred and con- 
tempt at home. 

Thus, Mr. White was left the only patriot out of the 
three Philadelphians ! That he still loved his old asso- 
ciates, however, is proved by his making the condition, 
when elected rector in 1779, that if Mr. Duche re- 
turned, he should be allowed to resign. But, although 
"Caspipina" came back after the war was over, he 



102 A SYLVAX CTTY. 



iM'Vcr had any otticial connection with the parish ajiain, 
liiit liv«<l ill Ihf liiu' ii<)ii>e his tUther had built tor him, 
and. ill 17WS, he died and was buried l)y liis witV al the 
t:i-l end of St. IVtcrV. In liic ^' middle aylc '' of the 
chunh. jiiM oppo-ih' the rector's pew, two of his chil- 
dnii an- liurifd. 

In 1777, iu>t after Mr. ( 'oonibe was indicted, the Coun- 
cil nnlci-rd >v\v\\ (.f the l)ell> beloniiiuij; to Christ Church 
and the two :ii St. IVttr's taken down to save them 
from the enemy. The rector and vestry were much op- 
pu-r.l to ihi^ me:i>ure. The l»ells. they were sure, were 
in no tl:ini;er from the liritish, but it was certain that if 
thtv were taken down it would not be easy to hang 
thrill ;i<_'ain. The Council listened, but the bells came 
ilowii. and one story says were sunk in the Delaware, 
while another asserts they were taken to Allentown, 
Peiin-ylvania. In LTood time all this was done, for when 
th. Ihili-h came they tore down St. Peter's fence for 
fiirwnud and kept iioiif of their promises to pay for it. 
'I'lu- brick wall now around the churchyard was then 
built to nphicc thiit «»ne. 

When tin* war closfd the American Church was in a 
forlorn condition, and an entire sepaialiou tVom Vavj^- 
laiid was ii«'c('>>-ary, l>ut fii->t an Anieiican l)i>hop had 
to b«« secured. Dr. Scabury, of Connecticut, was ac- 
cordingly sent over before tin' tn aty of piace was sii^ned, 
but political fcclinir wa^ >till >l roller eiiouiih to make the 
Kii'jii-h bi>hops refuse to consecrate him. so he went 
to Si'otland, where the non-jnriiii: bi>|iops, themselves 



rAsprpmA.'' los 



under political disabilities, performed the ceremony. 
There were evident reasons wh}?^ this consecration was 
not altogether satisfactory, and, in 17S6, Dr. White 
was elected Bishop of Pennsylvania, and going to Eng- 
land, was consecrated at Lambeth, and among the cler- 
gymen present again appears an old friend, Mr. Duche. 

In the meantime a convention of depnties was held in 
Christ Church to take measures for the organization of 
the church through the country, and the first General 
Convention, consisting of deputies from seven of the 
thirteen States, was present. During all these days 
and months of anxious planning, Dr. AVhite lived in a 
house at Front and Lombard, where St. Pett-r's House 
now stands, and here all the preliminary steps toward 
organizing the American Church and preparing the 
prayer-book were taken. 

The story of the churches is now one of progress. St. 
James was built on Seventh street ; the first Sunday 
school in the countr}^ was established. Christ Church 
Hospital, founded by Dr. Kearsley in 1772, as a home 
for dependent women, members of the Church of Eng- 
land, was in operation. There were slight changes in 
the interior of the churches, such as moving the organ 
in St. Peter's, the presentation of fonts, the appro- 
priation of a pew to the President, and in 182.^ there 
began to be a discussion concerning the separation of 
the three churches. The youngest, St. James, was the 
first to go, but Christ Church and St. Peter's clung 
together some years longer, until the union of the 



106 



,1 >T/:rj.v rrrr. 



]):inslios Imcmiiic rt;illy cimilu-rsdmi'. niul in ls:i-J Ihore 

\v:i- :i I'Miiial Miitl 1<'i:m1 >«ikii;i1 'mu imd .li\ii<»n of pro- 
lurtv, aii«l:ill in a -|)iril of liannony aiitl i> rl> <t -jocd- 
will. ami Willi tin- t\i>n-s< (•oH(IirM)n (liat Ui-liuj) Wliilr 
sIkmiI.I rtiiiaiii iTclur'>r ihr tlirtc i»aiislus a> 1<»iil; a^ hi- 
liv.-.l. 

hi ls:;i; lii-hup WWwv .lied, a .Irvoiit man and a 
U«»dly iirraclit r. takin-j willi Idni tlir l.»\c (.f all \vli(» 
knrw him. ami liavin-j- a naim- Inll of Itiid r mcmnricv. 
llf \va- iMii-i.d at Chri-t Chiircli. in hi- family vaul!, 
and n<» «ili/.»ii uf |'hiladtdi»hia »\< f had a mm-c - im-iTt' 
or nioii' trul\ iriin--fnlali\ c hody nf nuMniins at his 
L'ra\»'. 

Since Ihat limr the two old chnrchi-- haxc had day^ 
of sttady iir«»-|ici-ily. They have taken no -hai-e in cni- 
reiil unevtion-s of i-it iial or of the absence (»!' il. Iml. hold- 
imr to the liiilh o|' their fathers, have iriven the veivice 
accordin-.' to the i)i-ayer-ho(,k. in St. Peter's, the rector 
nfwhiih i- the IJev. Thoma- 1\ Davits. D. 1 ).. daily s.-r- 
vice. niornin-i and evening. ha«« hcen held for very manv 
year-, and llie pari-h conlinne- one of the -troiiue-t and 

nu»>t active in the diore-e. 

S(. I»eter"- Ilon-e. a! the corner of I'^ont and I.om- 
hard. i- llu- c.ntrc of much of the acli\e work in the 
pari-h. There me.t the (inild lor Woi-kin-nien. the 
Mntnal Aid S.cietie-. tin- ,-chools and the liihl.- classes. 
There i- a -axin-.' fnnd, a scwinir <'lass : plea-ant loonis. 
where men may a— einhle. ^moke and plav cei-tain 
«j:une>. The children havi- their fe-tivals. and the 



casptpina:' iot 



mothers their cheery meetings. All of this is superin- 
tended hy members of the ehiireh, but much of the real 
work lies in the hands of those who are to be benefited 
by it. It is tbeir own, and the interest they take in it 
accounts for nuicli of its prosperity and vitaUty. 

And so the two old churches stand, one in the rush 
and hurry of trade, the other in all the quiet and shade 
of '^Old rhiladelphia" trees, and every year makes 
themdearer lo"their m(>ml)ers. In Christ Church changes 
have iK'cn made, and in an evil hour it was " improved," 
but this year it has been restored to something of its old 
appearance. In St. Teter^s the high old pews, the pulpit 
in the air, shadowed by the great sounding-board, tell of 
many years of praise and prayer, undisturbed by inno- 
vation, content to live in old ways and in the quietness 
of spirit that works earnestly and without the friction 
of change. 

Both Christ Church and St. Peter's have endowment 
funds, which will enable them, for many a long year to 
come, to keep their place amoug the active religious 
forces of the city. 



~m'^^}i-- 



■>1k, 
















OLD SAINT JOSEPH'S. 



AN OLD CONFES- ? 
SIGNAL. 



AINT JOSEPH'S is the oldest Catho- 
lic Church in Philadelphia, and 
is one of those buildings, half 



ancient, half modern, which are 
of lasting interest because of their 
association with Colonial and Ile- 
volutionary times. It stands in 
the busiest part of the present 
business quarter of the city, surrounded by the otiices 
of the large railroad corporations, which are essentially 
typical of modern life. Almost all the other old land- 
marks in the neighborhood have disappeared. The 
Friends' Almshouse, with its httle thatch-roofed cot- 
tages, has been torn down to make room for rows of 
neat brick ofhces, while the grass-grown graveyard 
where the Gabriel of Evangeline was buried, according 
to some authorities, has been replaced by well-laid, 
well-kept flower-beds. 

" How changed is here each spot man makes or fills !" 

Even St. Joseph's bears marks of the enterprise of a 

growing congregation, and a mania for pulling down 

and building up which inspired Philadelphians in the 

109 



110 .1 NlXr.LV ( II'Y 



days wlu-n llu'v wen* yoimiror aiul not so wise. Though 
• uciipying the gnmnd Wouudit h\ its loiiiuU'r, the prc- 
M-nl chiin-h i> in nalily Ihr t<uirili (.flhc iiainc and was 
built in is.'.s. Ii> >u,u,Lrt>lit»n of agt- is iluc as much to 
itscxistrncf in sucli incongruous surroundings as to the 
achial ninnltiT of its ycai^. 

ra>sing dowu Willin-jV alhy, lu-luim the tall build- 
ings of iIk' licading and INinisylvania Railroads, the 
wavt'anic.nio toan inui gate, wliiih might be supposed 
to Im1..ii._' (.. the latter were it not for the cross which 
ornaminl> it. It opens into an archway, not unlike 
tho>e adjoining old-fa-hioncd imi>. beyond wbieh is a 
large, Mpiaie, pave<l courtyard. On two sides of this is 
the railroad olliee. at whose windows busy clerks can be 
seen lnndiuLr over Ibeii' book>. At Hie lower end, di- 
re<tly opposite the gate, is the clmrch. a modest l^rick 
building, willi long-pointed white wiutlows, ivyless and 
vin«'les>, and de-litnle »»1' «lee(»ration, .mle>s a marble 
bu-l of I'atbri- P.arbelin and a tablet to his memory can 
be >o tallfd. ( )n the right side of the courtyard is the 
l»ou>e u-rd a> a dwelling Ity the j)rie>ts and as a school. 
It is, like tbr t buivli, built of brick. It- doorway has a 
quaint ninindrr of nilni- elime> and carrKr ages in a 
little pcrp-w indow tlnouL:li which tlic lay brotln r can 
in»p»'tt all \i-itors before opening the <loor for tbem. 
By it hanus a large lamp, which throws its light on 
those w ho call after dark. Tlu-se pncautions are neces- 
sary, llic Itrotlier told me once, for desperate charac- 
ters, within who>e reach he woidtl not trust himself alone. 




GATFU \\ or sr J ^FPH > 



OLD SAINT JOSEPH'S. 



113 







-^^^^ 




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••s^sav-^a- 




OLD 


LAMP, ST. JOSEPH'S. 



sometimes come there. His 
words were an echo of me- 
ditevalism, and conjured up 
pictures of daring outlaws 
fiercely knocking at the gates 
of the monastery they meant 
to pillage. 

The interior of the build- 
ing is as barren to the curi- 
osity seeker as the exterior. 
Three rooms of the original 
house remain, but they have 
l)een thoroughly renovated. 

One or two quaint fireplaces have been preserved, but 
they are in upper rooms, into Avhich none but the 
initiated can enter. The place is, as Heine says, "old 
without anti(|uity." There is here, however, one ob- 
ject which is of interest to all lovers of art or of Phila- 
delphia. This is the first large and important picture 
painted l)y Benjamin West, and presented by him to 
the Jesuits at Conshohocken. It represents a woman 
in the conventional vScriptural dress giving a child a 
drink from a little bowl, while an old man stands be- 
hind her and an angel hovers near the child. As this 
group was supposed to Ixi the Holy Family, the picture 
was once hung over the main altar, where it remained 
for many years. But one da}^ it was discovered — his- 
tory has not recorded how — that the artist had intended 
to commemorate in it the adventures of Hagar and Ish- 



114 A STL VAX CITY. 



m;i( 1 111 ilif <!«>« li, and >o it was removed as inappro- 
priatr tn>(> conspifUMus a p(»>itioii. It tlu'ii l)uc'amc' the 
pn.pnty <»f llic .Itsuits at St. .loseplfs, and a few years 
a;z<». the I'l^^iirrs having heconie indistinmu>liaV>le, it was 
cleaned. 

Tlir tir-t citli.ni-l- ot' rcnnsylvania respected freedom 
in nliu'ioii. Had IVim been alone in their i;<»vernment 
the individual"- riudil to choose for himself in s)»iritnal 
mat ter> u <udd never have l)een interfered with. Ihit 
lie and thev were nnder Ih'ilish rule, an«l En«:;land was 
then iMllerly intolerant where the Church of Home was 
( oncerned. At lir>t there were luit few ("alholics in 
Philadelphia, and these few conducted their ceremonies 
fpiietly and muthlrn-^ively. Humor occasionally busied 
it-ejf with >lories of nKiss-lmn.^is, and allusions were 
made hi ilie itroence of an old jirifM in the city. Work- 
men ill pa->inLr a certain house at the corner of AVahiut 
and l"r<»M( >t reels had perhaps been seen taking off 
their liat> and making the genullexions Catholics prac- 
ticed in >alulin<4 their sacred altars. Already, in 1708, 
Penii, writing from Kngland to James Logan, said: 
"Willi llioe is a eomjijaint again>t your government 
that you sutler public mass in a scandalous manner; 
pray send tin- matter of fact, for ill use of it is made 
agaiii>t us here.'" llut iio definite measures were taken, 
and so long as their practices were not loo '' scandal- 
ous " Catholics were unmolested. Their number in- 
< leased under this liberal rule until their brethren in the 
Catholii- colony (»f Marvland thought the time had come 



^s 










r=Ti 






"PR'. 




OLD SAINT JOSEPH'S. 117 

to give them a priest of tlieir own. In 1732 Father 
Greaton, a Jesuit, was sent from Baltimore to estal)lish 
a church and attend to the spiritual wants of the faithful. 
Tlie settlement of a priest in Philadelphia was attended 
h}^ at least a chance of danger. The Sons of St. Igna- 
tius and St. Francis Xavier are not, however, men to 
he frightened h}' dithculties. But they are cautious as 
well as daring, and wise in their generation. Father 
Greaton, on arriving in the City of Quakers, horrowed 
the Quaker garh. It was not long hefore he changed it 
for his own hlack rohes ; hut when he huilt his church, 
which he called St. Joseph's, he made it accord as far 
as was possi])le with the Quaker style of architecture. 
Its survival of the fittest depended principally upon the 
manner in which he succeeded in making a fit, or in not 
attracting puhlic attention. If it resemhled closely the 
Friends' Almshouse, hy which it stood, there was so 
much the less prol)ahility of its evoking the Quakers' 
ohjection to display and ornament. 

This was in 1733. In the following year it hegan to 
excite comment. A chapel with its own pastor and 
regular congregation could not pass unnoticed, when, 
up to the time of its estahlishment, even the casual 
presence of a priest had heen suhject of remark. Father 
Greaton's proceedings were referred to the Provincial 
Council and were carefully discussed at two meetings. 
The dehaters, of whom Thomas Penn was one, could 
not decide whether, according to Colonial laws. Catholic 
celehrations were to be countenanced, or, following the 



118 A SVf.VAN CTTY. 



stilt utfs of Williiiiii III. wtiv to 1k' pioliil.ilid. In- 
rn-asr of liluTiility appears in llic I'act that ii<» i)ra('ti(al 
strps ill fitlur Mirrctinn wtMc taken aftci- tluse de- 
liatrs — tlu- iiiatlcr was allowed to rest, and FatluT 
(Jreaton cuiiliimed his work umlisturhtd. • The al»l»ot 
dim*"- ofl" his -iiiLrini:/' says the Sp:mi-h pii»\eih. hut 
ill I-'ather (irraloiiV ea>e it lt|-ttii'_:ht him Ncrv ]ioor faiv. 
The lir-t prie-l> in I'liiladelphia had iiothiiiL: l»iil their 
name in euniinon with the monk> of Mrlro>e (ir of Wey. 
Thev weic not niakei's of •"uude kale" or "Jolly old 
hoy>." hnl haid-workinLT men to whom a ta^k had heen 
intrusted and who could not n-t until they had coni- 
pleled it. As proof of their Zeal and de\oiiun we tind 
that in 1717. only fourteen years after its foundation. 
the chnreh wa>« eousiderahly enlai*ir<'d and so nuuh ini- 
provcil that Kalm, the Swedish traveler, dexrilu'd it 
a-a"'Lrreat house, whieh i- well adorned within and 
has an orLran." The adoiiuneiits could not have lui n 
vi-ry valuahic or expensive, for the couLrrciration was 
|HH.r. their poverty. in<leed. heing one of the reason^ 
which pnventcd the accaunnlation of treasures u>uallv 
found in ("alho|i<- churche-s of a century's «rrowth. 

The old prejudice a-_Minst liomanisis did not i>erish 
with their increa-inu' numhers. 'J'he jieoplc had not \ct 
outlivi'd the fear of (Junpowder i)l(»t> and Smiihiitdd 
fu-e«.. hurinu' the licvolution it wa< i:«'nerally suitposed 
that the l'iii,is(s rejoiced when they heaid had news 
from the IJevoJulionary armie<, Ihil this sui>positioii 
was bused entirely (»n fancy. Catholics now boast that 






i 
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' *T:^vr^ ^^<'"~:s^#^^' 



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OLD SAINT JOSEPH'S. 121 

among them " tliere was not one Tory, not one false to 
Ills country." While bigoti-y livi'd on with the people, 
it disappeared from oHicial circles. The latent liberality 
of Penn's successors was developed by external influ- 
ences. America's truest friends during her struoole 
with England came from Catholic countries. French- 
men and Spaniards Ijrought witli them their chaplains 
who celel)rated mass in the city churches, and congress- 
men and otliccrs assisted at their services as a mark of 
respect. It is boasted by those who love St. Joseph's 
that Lafayette, the Counts de Rochambeau and De la 
Grasse, and all the gallant French otficcrs who fought 
for us, have stood within its walls. AVhen the war was 
over a Te Deum of thanksgiving was sung there by the 
request of the Marquis of Luzerne, and there is a tra- 
dition that at this ceremony Lafayette and Washington 
were both present. 

This church of the Jesuits is the root from which 
sprang many others. Wh(^n its congregation became 
too large for its quarters, St. Mary's, St. Augustine's and 
the Holy Trinity were successively built. All three 
play a more active, animated part in historical records 
than St. Joseph's. It was at St. Mary 's, on Fourth Street, 
that the first schism in the Philadelphia diocese occurred. 
There was a long dispute between the trustees of the 
church and the Bishop about its priest. Father Ilogan. 
Party feeling waxed warmer and stronger until the con- 
test passed from words to blows. There were riots in 
which blood was shed. The Schismatics finally won the 



A STL VAX CITY. 



<i:i\. ;iii(l Fatlior Iloiiun, though excoiniminicated, re- 
inaiiH'd in iM»>>rs>i()u. Tlu' Calholics of Pliila(l<'li)hia 
l»;i<lr fair l<> r«i»r:it ilir warian- that ofold di-i^raccd llu- 
Clmnh ill Kmia- and ( onsiantinoj.K'. All tlii> liap- 
jM ind, howcvrr, when the local church \va> in ils early 
youth. Now it is a> i»acctul au<l -ilcnl a> Si. .lox-ph 
hiniM-ir could \\i>h. The «;rass in the ^ravcyaid grows 
tall and wild, Ihc graves arc half-hcatcn down, and 
llu- gravoiono look a- if. al a touch, lluy might 
lUll. This scene of neglect and decay i> not witliout its 
historical interest. ( onnnochMc liairy, the '* Father (»i 
the Aiuericau Navy." and ol' Kevohuionary fame, is 
hurietl iheri", anil not far from him lies Commodore 
Meade, a later and eijually gallant ollieer. 

"NVIu'ii forced from S|, .\hiry"> the Jiishop took rei'uge 
at St. .Io>,.|ih"s and made it hi> Cathedral. Seldom ac- 
tively connected with the di-(»rders in the di(K-ese, this 
ehun-h. moie than once, hecanu- the refuge of tliose 
upon whom the hiu-d«'n fell. During the anti-Catholic 
riot> (»f 1.M4. whi-n l'rote>tant> declared that tlie enemy 
was pn-paring a new Saint IJartholomew ; when houses 
with their owners still in them were hurued to a>hes ; 
when St. Augustine's hurned to the music of the peo- 
ples' hu/./ahs and Oraieje airs i)layetl on life and drum 
— I'Ven then St. .h.-ejiir- e-caped uusialhed. r,ut the 
annals of those trouhled limes have n'corded that it 
opcnecl its «h»Mrs to the pri«'st and congregation of the 
destroyed churches, and that the .hsuits hit them in 
full povvrvviuu at certain hours, s,, (hat at mass and 



&w^ 







OLD SAINT JOSEPH' S. 



125 



vespers it might seem as if they were still in tlieir own 
eliurches. 

The Holy Trinity, which '4ooks like a cotlin," as I 
have heard it described, is the last building in Philadel- 
phia in which the red and black bricks, once so common, 
were used. Attached to it is a graveyard, whose time- 
worn tombstones bear old French and Spanish names, 
recalling the days when the City of Brotherly Love wel- 
comed the San Domingo refugees. Here, too, Stephen 
Girard lay buried for many years before his body was 
removed to the college grounds. In one shady corner 
there is a slab, which covers the entrance to the vault 
belonging to the Sisters of Saint Joseph, and which is 
sacred to the memory of Sisters Camilla, Petronilla, 
Anastasia and many other good Sis- 
t(>rs who have been long since forgot- 
ten. Even now, this reminder of them 
would be unnoticed did not legend 
declare that here among her Sisters of 




'-7 






120 A SYLVAN CITY. 



tlic ( "Inirch rcpoMs Evangeline. And so ends the pretty 
r<»in:iii(«'. Tlie lover is laid in a i)auper's grave, while 
Ihr Itcluvrd (lies to the world when she elothes herself in 
n lii;iou> rohes and heconu -^ only a Sister Camilla or 
IVtronilla with the rest. This chureh, like St. Mary's, 
was thf eanse of schisms and clerical qnarrels. Trus- 
ters and Bishops could not agree, and there followed 
•• tcrrihle times," as a gc^od priest naively expresses it. 

There lias hccn a ^Mcat change of feeling in regard to 
Catliolics since ls^44. The old spirit of oi)position was 
very hitter. The Hindoos say that whether the knife 
fall on the melon, or the melon on the knife, the melon 
suflers equally. And so it was with tlu' Catholie.s. 
"Whether they or the Protestants were at fliult, it is cer- 
tain that they paid the pi-nalty. Once the very sugges- 
tion of huihling houses for monks and nuns was like 
applying lighte»l kindling-wuud to well-laid logs, and 
hurried into riotou«^ outhnaks those who only waited 
the opportunity. IWit nt>\v, monasteries and convents 
stand in (»ur principal >treet> an«l occupy the loveliest 
sites in our sulturl)s. Instead of the rumored dkl^s- 
hmLsfs, there are handsome cathedrals and churches, 
with tluir seminaries, schoulv and asylums. The ( atho- 
lic i)opidation is viry large and devout, as any one at- 
tending early mas> at St. Patrick's or St. Joseph's can 
testify, hut it does not i-ou>iitute a distinct element in 
itself, and this is cretlitahle to hoth I'rotcv'^tants and 
Catholio. The liherality of I'eun, fostered ]»v a i^row- 
ing spirit <tf toleration, has done its work. The days 



OLD SAINT JOSEPH 'S. 127 



have gone when a rreslnterian or Catholic would only 
l)ny his ])ntter or clothes from Presbyterian or Catholic 
ftirmers and tradesmen. Socially, Catholics are as 
widely apart as the })e()ple belonging to other sects. 
On political qnestions, too, they are divided, and are 
very for from forming a "solid Catholic Chnrch" party. 
]3ut on the subject of education they do stand aloof from 
their fellow-citizens. Their objection to the public 
school S3^stem is as strong now as it was in the days 
when it gave rise to riots, but they, having grown in 
power and wealth, are better al)le to meet the difhculty. 
The Church disapproves of purely secular education, 
and requires that science and art be taught in accord- 
ance with her doctrines. The age demands good and 
thorough education : oy/o, to keep up with the age, 
Catholics must supply it. Their efforts to do this have 
had some good results. Parochial schools, which were 
in a sad condition, are improving. Sisters of Mercy 
have been sent to the Xormal School, so that they 
might learn how to teach their pupils after the most 
approved manner. These efforts, it is true, make no jn'o- 
vision for the higher education of children whose parents 
cannot afford or are not willing, after paying their taxes, 
to send them to private schools. But this want has been 
partly obviated by the measures of the late ]\Ir. Thomas 
E. Cahill. At his death he left the greater part of his 
fortune for the jiurpose of establishing a Catholic High 
School for boys over eleven years of age, who are to be 
selected first from the parish schools and then, if there 



128 



A -s)7. r.LV c/TV 



remiiin vacaiick'y, from the public schools. It is to be 

callfd the iloiiiau Calliolic Ili-h Sdiool of Pliiladrl- 
phia. TIjc fad i> >i;4nilicaiit. Tiie Catholic niillion- 
ain* of l.^^TS dcvolini: a fortune to the furtherance of 
Calholic education, presents a strong contrast to the 
>oHtary priest in (^laker disguise of ilo2. 



•S 







THE OLD PHILADELPHIA LIBRARY 




L-,^-*'^^ ^ olden cla3's a private 
liljrary was a must com- 
fortable possession, be- 
cause it was one of the 
few things which a man 
could bring to a given 
point and then regard as 
linished. As late as 1731, 
when in Philadelphia the 
first circulating library 
which is on record was 
founded, no one dreamed 
of keeping up with cur- 
rent literature, Addison 
was dead, and the Tattler and Spectator had become clas- 
sics ; Pope's feeble yet resolute fingers were moulding 
English literature into rigid forms ; Goldsmith was a 
schoolboy, and Johnson an usher. Everybody read, and 
a few bought, but the scholar of elegant tastes would 
have thought Emerson's rule, never to read a book until 
it is a year old, absurdly enterprising. He was content 
to pore over the Horace he had inherited from his father, 
^- See Introduction. 
129 



MINERVA IN THE LIBRARY. 



i;io 



.1 SVLVAX (I TV. 



and, if lie made a new reading?, he conmatiilated himself 

ii|M)n lii> «»riLMn;ilil \ , It", in his siatdv corrcsixmdciice, 
lir \vi>li«(l to <|iinii'. he i)rrtcnvd an autiior wiio n-tlected 
cndit (»n lii^ ( iiidilion t«>any one nut yet indorsed ])y tlie 
Icarnt'd. It lir wi-licd to (•on>nll autliorjtics he could 
l»os>il)ly <^v{ a pcrniit to cnlcr one of the i^rcat libraries, 
Imt he <Ii«l not Imy a voIuiik- simply for referenee, and no 
«»no was mad inouizh to dream of eirculatinjjj either 
hooks or rrown jewels, lloili were kept in their cases. 
Such NoiiiiLT m«'n as dohuson and Franklin mi^jht hire a 
volume Ipmu a l>ouk>eller. hut it was not usual, and such 
a iiappy ac«-ident a> tlu- oue that sent the news to (iov- 
ernor Uurnet. of a vouuir man named Franklin who was 




THE OLD m ILIUN( 



THE OLD PHILADELPHIA LIBRARY 



131 




THE NEW BUILDTXO 



in a sloop at the Xew York wharf with some hooks, 
did not often happen. 

This was in 1724, wlien Frankhn was going haek from 
Philadelphia to Boston, and just six years hefore he 
founded the "Junto'' Club. This fermenting httle 
power in Philadelphia history was organized in a small 
ale-house to discuss such subjects as morals, politics and 
natural philosophy, but it was highly practical, and, 
while it studied up Poman civilization, it kept a keen 
lookout on Philadelphia interests. It told "new and 
agreeable stories," and when they heard of a failure in 
business the members sought after the causes. They 
discussed the successful man and his methods, and were 
particular to applaud the citizen who was said to have 



132 



A SYLVAX CITY. 



(iMiioMniu'thinir^-n'ditnMo. They inadra note of "youiiLr 
Itf.'imirrs latrly set ii|>.'* ami (lt< •hIciI upon llu* l)est way 
• if li»-l|iiiiir lliiiii. If tlir cliai-aclt r of a hu'IiiImi- was 
a»ailr«l \\\> fcll<»\v> ("inic l<t liis ditcnsf. ami tlu-y aidt-d 
«:i(li otliir in i-lalili-liini; a<lvanta<j:«'<>us fr'nnd.^hips. 
'I'lwy niadf tli(in>«lv»-> acMiuaintcd w it li every deserving 
stranu'er win* <unie to town and a>ked if they could be 
of n-e to hiuK Never wa-« there :i more ])raelieal and 
keener little eoini»:iny. and llie rhiladelphiM Lihrary, 
the I'hilo>o|>hieal Sueicty. the rniver>ity of l\nnsylva- 
nia and tin* I'eini>ylvania Ilo-pital are aniom: its many 
direet di'x-c'ndants. The animatim: >onl in all of this 
wa- the v||<_"_'e>tive Franklin. He wa» always full of 
plan- and hn>y ahout the he-t way of eairyini:: them 
out. lie drew np the rule> lor the eluh. and it irrew lo 
he like him. ( )ne day the idea «>1" a eonnuon lihrar}' 
eain»- to him. Kaeh nieinhei' owned hooks wliieh were 
<onstantly iH-iuir borrowed by the other>. and Franklin's 
plan wa>- to put them all to'_retlier in the eluh-i-oom. where 
tlu-y woidd he (-a-y of aeee-- for reference durini; the 
nn-e(ini:>. and «aeh nieniltei- could have the use of the 
wholr eolleetion. The eluli had hy thi> lime moved to 
the Iwuise of Kobert (iraee. wlu^ is iiinnorlali/.ed in 
Fhihnhdphia annals by Fninklin's terse descriplion of 
him as "a yomiiz L'eiitleman of >ome foi-tune : generous, 
lively and witty : a lover of pinmin^and of his fiiends,'" 
and >o Franklin'> plan b»'in<j: a<^M-eed to. each of the nieni- 
ber-> gathered up hi> -jreat folio- and (piartos. his chap- 
books, nnd all hi> literarv treasure-, and carried them to 




\ 'j^-'^-^-r 



'^'-A\{^':A-r^.3. 



Ulimmm ^~ i^^ 



s 









]-.]'} A STL VAX CITY. 



(i • -oimiliinixf'r<'<litnV>lr'. Tliov niadr a notcof "301111^ 

lM-_'imu'rs lately sd iij)." ami (Ncidcd upon llu* host way 
<.r iM-lpiiiL' tliriii. If thf cliaractt r of a iiu'iiil.ti- was 
as-aili'd his Jrllows caiiic to his (Icliiisr, ami they aided 
earh other in e>tahli>hin^ advantairi'ous friendships. 
They made ihemselvo aecpiainted wilh every fleserving 
stranger who eunie to town and asked if they c-ould be 
of u-e to hin>. N<-ver wa«- there a more i»raetital and 
keener little company, and tlu' I'hiiad.-lphia Library, 
tin- riiiloxiphieal Society, the rniver>ity of l\nn>yl\a- 
iiia and the renn>ylvania Ilo-pital are anion:^ its many 
• lirect de>«-endant>. The animatin-j >onl in all of this 
wa- the sn._r^r,...tiv,. Ki-anklin. He wa> always full of 
jtlan- and hu>y about the be-t way of carryinu them 
out. He drew up the rule> for the (lull, and it «,m-('W lo 
be like him. ( )ne day the idea of a oomnion liltrary 
eame to him. Ka<h in( inber owned books which were 
constantly iH'iiiiX borrowed by the others, and Franklin's 
plan wa- to put them all toi^cther in the club-i-oom. where 
they would be easy of acce» tor referenee durinu the 
nieetinLTs, and t-ach nu-mber could have the use of the 
whole collection. The club had by thi> lime moved to 
the house of Robert (irace. who is innnortalized in 
IMiiladtdphia annals by Franklin's terse description of 
him as "a youni: u'eutleman of-ouie fortune ; generous, 
lively and witty ; a lover of pnnniuirand of his fiiends," 
and so Franklin'> plan beiiej airreed to. each of the mem- 
bers i^'athered up his threat Ibliov mid (piartos. his chai)- 
books.and all hi- literary trea-ur<-. and carried them to 








' X 
~*^~- 






w \l 



THE OLD PHILADELPHIA LIBRARY. 135 



firace's house on Iliuh, or Market Street, above Second, 
just opposite the Court-liouse. For fear of disturbing 
the family, they went up Pewter-plate Alley, through an 
archway, to the room over the kitchen, where they met, 
and great was the satisfaction with which this tine show 
of books, which tilled one end of the room, was viewed. 
At the end of the year, however, many of the mem- 
bers pronounced this experiment of a library in common 
Xo lil)rarian had been appointed ; no 
been responsible for the books ; some 
taken away and not returned ; some 
and to prevent farther loss, each man 



a failure, 
one had 
had been 
were torn, 




THE OLD LANTERN. 



took up his books and 
through Pewter-plate 
Alley marched home 
again. 

But Franklin never 
let go of an idea that 
pleased him. He had 
tested the circulating 
library and he 1)elieve(l 
the experiment would 
be feasible and pr(Mit- 
able, so his busy luiiul 
(•ceupied itself in devis- 
ing a better foundation 
than unorganizcMl asso- 
ciation. He decided 
that, if he could get a 



130 .1 SV/.lAX CITY. 



numJMT of iuM»|)lc lotadi subscribe tifty shillings as a 
Iiiiirh:i-iiii: \\\\u\. ami then add an annual subsfrii)lion 
• •1 iru. hf could make a lair beginning. 

Ill' at once began to act upon this scheme, and so in- 
augurated—little as he susj)ected it I — the great dis- 
covery of his life — the discovery of the Puljlic Circulat- 
ing Lilirary I lie says in his little account of the enter- 
ljri>e thai thi^ liltrary gave ri>e to others all over the 
count ly. and toiietlur they "have improved the general 
con\»'r>alion of the Americans, made the connnon 
tradesmen and farmers as intelligent as most gentlemen 
from oibtT couuti-jc-, and jx-ihaj).- have contributed in 
some degree to the stand so generally taken throughout 
the col(Hiie^ in defense of their privileges," 

To what tbf eirculaliug lil)rary was to grow, and what 
share it was to tak«' in the eductition and entertainment 
of the Anglo-Saxon race, even its founder's sanguine 
ianry could not foresee I 

At thi> time Franklin was about twenty-live years 
old. and. although well known as an industrious and 
t-nterprising young man. lie could not have been an 
impoi-tant citizen. lie lived huuil»ly enough, and, in 
addition to hi- jjrintinu otlict-. he had a little shop where 
be -old -lationery. and wbich bis wife attended. lie 
ate bi> l»iead and milk with a pewtri- -ptM»n out of a por- 
riuLM-r : he wore a leatb.i- apron : be trundleil his goods 
liome in a wbrelbarrow. and wbcn be worked at night 
he wa- >brewd enou<jb to put hi- ligbt in the window, 
and not under a l»u-hel. so all the neiubbors -aw it, and 



THE OLD PIITLABELPIITA ITER ART. 



137 



said he was in- 
dustrious and 
must ho, oettini;- 
on; and as no- 
thing succeeds 
like success, liis 
advertising can- 
dle was a brilUant 
help. 

He had the pro- 
posal for his li- 
brary put into 
legal form by the 
conveyancer, 
Charles Brock- 
den ; it was made 
good for fifty 
years, and he 
then set out to 
find subscribers. 
He says : "I put 
myself as much 
as I could out of 
sight and stated 
it as the scheme 
of a number of 
friends who had 
requested me to veni-s, from the rush collection. 
go about and propose it to such as they thought lovers 
of reading." 




138 A STL VAX CITY. 



In spitt' of tln< little prevarication, upon whicli the 
author c(nii;nitiil;itf(l hiiii-t'ir. thiiikini; it a i)r(M)C of his 
want of vanity, llu* '-lovers of ivadini:"" in the ui)i)er 
elasM's Were liaitl to i)eisna(le, and when at la>t he oh- 
tained lifty >nhseriheis. with Hohert (iraee's name lead- 
ing the li>l and his own second in order, they were 
nearly all yonnL: nun <tf hi- own raidv. The llev, .laeoh 
l>nehe, of Chi-i-l ("liureh memory, who joined the com- 
pany in IT.i'J. --ay- in his " ("avjiipina "" U'tlers that '■ the 
lihrarian inlorms me that for one i)erson of distinction 
and foilnne there wen' twenty tradesmen who fi-e- 
• pientcdtln- library. ■' Thi> wa- in 1771. and >ho\v> how 
>tn»niily the workinLj-classes still ajtpreciated tluadvan- 
taires which their fellow-craftsman had ohtained for them. 

When at la«-t the treasurer had forty jxarnds in his 
possession, .lauifv Lo^an, •"the hest Judi(e of hooks in 
these part-." wa> con>ulted. a list made out. and VoiiV 
('oUin-oii. out- ol" tlic manairers who was just lioinii' to 
Kn^land. uutlerlook huyiuLr the hooks. This was in 
Mareli. 17:;-J. and all -unmier the new stockhol.lcrs 
looked forwanl with im|ialienre to ()ctoher. and. when 
it <ame. hriniiin*,' the hook-, they were deliuht( d to lind 
ihal .Mr. ( "oUin-on had a<lded N«wton's •■ I'rincipia"' and 
"TheCJardener's Dictionary" a- a i)re>ent. 

The lMM.k> were jilaced on the -helves in the 'Munto" 
room, -till in (;i-ac,-'> linu-i-. a lihrarian chosen, and 
the lil)rary wa> open to the juihlic. It was surpris- 
inifly lilieral iu its otfers. It did not limit i1^ advan- 
tages to >nhscril>er>, hut olfered tlu- use of the hooks in 



THE OLD PHTLADELPAIA LIBRARY. 141 



the room to any '-civil 
person,"' «aiid, if he de- 
posited the vahie of a 
volume and added a 
^mall sum for its use, 
he could take it home. 
Nearly all the books 
now on the shelves 
were in English, few 
of the subscribers be- 
ing classical scholars, 
and all of them too prac- 
tical to care for books 
they could not read. 




REQUEST BOX I.N I SK SINt ,. i ,i, 
DATIOX OF THE LIBKAKV 



This idea of utility has governed the purchases of the 
library through the entire hundred and fifty years of 
its existence, so that it has never "padded"' its 
shelves. Mr. Lloyd P. Smith, wlio for years has been 
the faithful and competent librarian of the now con- 
solidated libraries— the Philadelphia, the Logan and 
the liidgway— speaks with knowledge when he says in 
one of his papers: "Compared to the libraries of 
Europe and America, sustained by government or 
municipal appropriation, the Philadelphia Library is 
not large, but its hundred and thirty thousand books 
are well chosen. It does not possess that immense 
number of volumes of polemic divinity, which, during 
so many centuries, helped to deluge Europe with blood, 
nor the enormous mass of commentaries on the civil 



142 A SYLVAN CTTT. 



law that apiM an «l aflrr tlic dix-ovcfv of the ranclects 
at Amalli. It (•<)nlaiii> l>iit lew .-lu't-inicns (jf controver- 
sial writ inirs lictwccii the nniiiinali>ts and realists, the 
Sotti-t- and 'riinmi-ts at one period and the -lansenists 
an<l Molinists at another. It ha> not. like the Xational 
Lihrary at I*aris. a r(»«)in devoted to all the successive 
edition- of a sehooj-hook. If. howevi-r. it i> lacking in 
these, it does not follow that it camiot atford ample 
means for acquiring real learning. In administering 
the mode-t ineonu' of the eonipany the directors have 
steadily kept in view the original and main ohject of the 
association, to lorm a lil)rary for home rcadinu, and so 
have rotrieted theii- puiehases in such departments as 
law. medi<ine. mechanics and natural history, to which 
special lihiario in the city of rhiladelpiiia are devoted, 
and yet have al>o heen solicitous to av(»id epliemeral 
produ<iions of no real merit. Hare and costly hooks 
are added from time to time, and the income of the 
Loganian Lihrary ha> gone to purchase such works as 
Lepsius" and Kosxlini's Kgypt. Kingshorough's Mexico, 
and the twelve volumes ot the antiquities in the British 
Mnsouin. The Ixipiest of Dr. Rush's lihiaiy has added 
many costly woiks on similar sul>)ects. and the student 
of Kgyptology will fnid in the Hidgway Ihaneh nearly 
all the inqiortant works in his departinciil." 

In the-e eaily day>. howe\er. there wa> little thought 
of a larg»' or complete collection. The great tact was 
tliat tinre was a pnhlic lihrary at all. I'ranklin kept up 
an active interest in the enterprise, and of course uti- 



THE OLD PHILABELrHIA LIBRARY. 145 



lized it. He devoted at least an hour every day to study ; 
he printed tlie eatalogue, and so paid liis annual tax for 
two years. In the seeond year he served as Ubrarian, 
and the visit the direetors paid to Thomas Penn when 
he came to Philadelphia doubtless originated in his 
shrewd brain, ever ready to see and seize an advantage. 
As might have been expected, Penn acknowledged the 
courtesy by a gift of books and apparatus. 

In ten years the collection had outgrown its quarters 
in Robert Grace's house, and it was removed to the 
State House, where Dr. Duche describes it as being in 
one of the wings that join the main building by means 
of a brick arcade. 

In 1750 James Logan, who in his youth was the friend 
of Penn, and in his old age the adviser of Franklin, died 
and left to the city a curious and valuable legacy. He 
knew the value of his library as- perhaps the^very finest 
private collection of books in the Colonies, and he espe- 
cially prided himself on his hundred folios in Greek, his 
complete set of the Roman classics and the old mathe- 
maticians of Greece. It was altogether worth ten 
thousand pounds, and was in every way a royal legacy 
to Philadelphia. 

AVhen the good old Quaker made his conditions with 
his trustees he created the only hereditary office in the 
c(nuitry. His books were to have a separate place ot 
their own, and the collection was to bear his name. He 
endowed it forever, and decided upon a proper salary 
for the librarian, and then ordered that this librarian 



un 



,1 >}7, r.l.V CITY. 



>li..ul«l al\vay> Wlnvz l" l!i<' K-viiaii finuily, (bo oldt'st 
on *A' the nldot >nii li.iii-- prcrrn-rd. If it chanced 
dial llic heir (Ud n<»l -cc lit (•> lill the (•llicc he cuidd 
.ippoiiii a dcpuly. l»iit a> loiii: as a LoLian of his hue 
r\i-l> >'» Iniiiz doe- thi>oirK-e hcloiii,M<» hiiu. lIi- al><) 
pnivided r«»r hii>lec>, m<)>|l\ IVnm hi> raiuily. directed 
thai the Ln-aiiiaii hlnary >hoiil.l l>e IVee to the pulfUc, 
and ih. 11. having carefully made ah the-e provisions, 
tiir old man di< d and I'fi ihe will un>ii:ned ! Hi? 
widow ami children, f<>rl unalely, had im idea of dis- 
rcjardini; hi> wisiics, hut at once coiUinned thcni, 
and for forty year-- a plain huildiiii; al the northwest 
corner of Sixth and Wahiut >treet> was opi-ncd every 
Satunhiy afterno(»n, •'lothe end that all persons, and 
more c>pe<ially (ho>c who have any knowledge in the 
Latin tongue, may ha ve free admission."' In 17".»-2, by 
aet of A»end>ly, the huildinir, hooks and the endow- 
in* nt of «i(Mi acre> of land in Bucks County were handed 
over to the Liltrary Company on the >aine trusts. 

Meant inu', little oc( nrred until ITT.I, wln'n the hooks 
were removed to ( 'arpenter»' Hall, remainini; all thron<];h 
the licvohition. '['he directors i^ave the use (tf the books 
to Con','re», an<l wluii it ha>tily ninoved and the Brit- 
ish wen' about enterini: the city, they were alarmed 
about the >afely of the collection, and >ome of the niem- 
l)ers were \ehenient in nruini: its immediate remo\al. 
To lhi> other-- ol'jected. The li-k of removal m-cuk d to 
them more sciiou-. than that of remaining, and >o there 
wa> hurried. an\iou> argument, but a> no cpioruni could 




RUSH MEMOKIALS. 



THE OLD PHILADELPHIA LIBRARY. 149 



be obtained the books Avere left on the shelves, und when 
the British actually were in occupation the otlicers were 
ulad to use the books and pay for them, and even after 
the room was used as a hospital for soldiers no injury 
was intiicted on the library. 

And so time went on. The British left the country 
and sailed back to Euiijland a wiser and a smaller army. 
Congress was again in Philadelphia. General Washing- 
ton was riding to Christ Cinn'ch in his carriage-and-four ; 
the Quakers approved the result of the war, and the 
Tories were beconnng reconciled. Everywhere hope 
was stronger than depression, and the l>reath of a new 
life filled tiie country. In Philadelphia trade prospered, 
ships were coming and going from the wharves, and fac- 
tories were building. There was a general movement 
westward toward the Schuylkill River, and the library 
was keeping pace with all this activity. It had l)een en- 
larged by the addition of books from several small and 
unsuccessful organizations, and had received some lega- 
cies. While Benjamin West was in England he was one 
day in Kent at the house of the Rev. Samuel Preston, 
and while i)ainting the portrait now in the library he 
lightly asked his host what he meant to do with all his 
books. ]Mr. Preston, smiling, said he did not know ; he 
had no children to inherit them. "Then," said the 
painter, " why not give them to the Philadelphia Li- 
brary ?'' and so went on to tell the Englishman of its 
origin and purposes. IVIr. Preston, listening, was inte- 
rested, and the end of it was he did leave. his library to 
the Philadelphia Company. 



150 A SYLVAN CITY. 



All this pruvjiciity :iinl iV-c'liuL^ <>f pt'i-iuiiiiriicc iu:i(lt' 
llu- <lin'<t<»rs \'vv\ tlu-y oiiuMil to liavt' a building; ol' lluir 
own. and in 17S<> (licy hvU\ a incctin^. at wliicli liisliop 
W'hilr i>r(-i<l(<l. and airn-cd to luiild as soon asoufliiin- 
drrd iHW iniiulu-rs wirt* adiU'd to the (•onii)any. This 
condition must have lucn (juickly fnllilU'd. as in August 
of the >anic yt-ai- iht-y laid tlh' (•(•rnt-r-stonc of that de- 
liuditfid old hwildin^ at Fifth and Library stn-rts. IV-n- 
janiin Franklin wa- now an old man of i-iiihty-thive, 
restin'j: aftiT Ion- and bu-y years of anxiety, enterprise 
and hniKH-. He was not able to l;iy the new eorniT- 
»l<»ne. but he w rote the in-( rijjtion, yet .so modestly that 
he made no mention of hi- tiwn sliare, and the diree- 
toi-> had to alter it and insert his name. It runs as 
tbllows: 

lu: IT i{KME>nu:i<Ei) 

I\ U<1NoU (»F THE I'lIII.ADEI.rUIA YOUTH, 

(then ( hiefi.y aktificeks) 

THAT IN MI)e<XX.\I 

THEV ( HEEKFIELY, 

AT THE INST\\< E oF HEN.IAMIX FKANKI.IN, 

ONE OF THEIK NfMBEU, 

INSTITt TE1» THE I'H I I.ADEI.FHI A I.IBKARY, 

W HK H, THol «iH SMAF-E AT FIUST, 

19 BECOME HMIII V VAI.I VUEE AND EXTENSIVELY VSEFII., 

ANK WIIK H THE WAEES OF THIS EDIFICE 

AKE NOW DESTINED TO < ONTAIN AND PRESERVE, 

THE FIRST STONE OF WHOSE FOINDATION 

WAS HERE PLACED 

THE THIRTY-FIRST DAY OF 

A I (S 1ST, 1789. 

Then ^vh^•n this corner-stom' was laid the " younsrar- 
tilicers " of another generatiuu came forward and asked 



mMui '- 




THE PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY. 



THE OLD PIITLADELPITTA LTBRARY. 158 



to be allowed to help with the new ])uil(lin,i;- and to take 
their pajMu stock, and one would taney that these sliaivs 
would be of special vahic to tiio<c who inlicrit thcni. 

What Philadelphian docs not i\aucnd)ei liiis hbrarv ! 
Surel}' never was there a buildinii' more (juaint, more 
quiet, more tlioroiiuhly pervaded with the silent wi.-dom 
of many liooks. Again it had followed the State House, 
l)ut now stood opposite on Fifth stivet. On the pave- 
ments were crowds of people hu)-rying l)y, and every- 
where groups standing to talk. Xowhere was there 
more haste and more delay. (Omnibuses ha.l tlieir day 
of rattling past, cars sped along, the prison wag(»ns and 
the carriages of lawyers rund)led up the street, and yet 
he who ascended the winding tlat steps and [)assed 
under the statue of Franklin and on through the faded 
leather doors, passed into silence and into a deep i)eace. 
Case after case of books lined tlie walls, and ran up in 
galleries to the ceiling. Roomy old arm-cliairs stood in 
alcoves by colonial tables. On one side ticked a (dock of 
Franklin's and on the other one of AVilliam Penn's, 
while one which once l)elonged to Oliver (/romwell 
marked the day of the month as well as the hour. The 
librarian sat at Penn's desk ; the pictures of tlie l)ene- 
factors of the library hung on the front of the galleries. 
Illuminated missals, black-letter books, copies of Eliot's 
Indian Bible, files of colonial newspapers — all sorts of 
curious and rare works slept in their cases. On the 
walls hung many portraits. Tliere was the old libra- 
rian, Zachariah Poulson, with the hat he never removed 



154 A STL VAX C'TTY. 



pulled ti^'htly down on liis cars; the smooth, handsome 
t-nf ..f Mr. rit-toii. and Lot::ur> line head. On one of 
tlu' ;^Mllerifs was the iireal bust of Minerva, six feet 
hiLdi. It had stood lu-hind the Speaker's chair at Sixth 
and Che-tnut ««lreets the day tliat (Jeneral \N'asliin«:ton 
;iro-e to <»j)en the Colonial ('onm-e». Who can fori^et 
Ju-l liow it all looked, and what an air of aire, of fine 
content re>t<'d over the (»ld i)lace I The hooks had for- 
liotteii all conlro\(i->\ . the pi-ol»leni> had all hei-n set- 
tl«-<l. and noihin- wa- lelt hut to helie\e and to he (piiet. 
In a i-ouni ju-l hack ol' ihe main hall \\a> the " I.oi^a- 
nian" Lihrary, and IVoin it ran another, loni: ami nar- 
I'ow. made into dim alco\-e> h\ cases of hodk^: and 
here, in dear -eclu>>ion. wa- the scholar with his pile of 
lexicon^ and cla-^ics. or the child curled up in a Lnvat 
colonial (hail-, hajipy with some ^reat volume of tMi- 
L'ravinu's. 

The-e Were the day- when everythinu" seemed perma- 
nent, and the record of >tock cominii from father to 
son, and from son to -grandson, seemed a matter of 
t'oursc. No one could ha\e heen •^urjiii^ed hecause in 
eiiihty-seven year> the London a^cnt- were of one 
family, and that in ninety-seven years thei-e should he 
hut four lihrarians was vomethimi to h*- expected. 

To heloii._r (n the lihraiy \va«« a credential of "fam- 
ily."" and if any one wanted to see the tyjiical "old Phi- 
ladelphian"" that wa» the jilace to seek him. Kveiy 
year athled to it- credit, and w hen >ome enterprising; vet 
cautions citi/en would speak of a new and lire-])roof 




FRANKLIN INSTITUTE LIBRARY 



., -s^« 



THE OLD PIIILADELPIIIA LIBRARY. 157 

building, it was like sacrilege, so dear had the old walls 
grown. And yet the new building eanie, and eoming, 
added another to the curious legacies to which this 
library is heir. 

There lived in Philadelphia not many years ago, a 
physician. Dr. James Rush, who was a son of the Dr. 
Benjamin Rush of Revolutionary days. The son in- 
herited the father's scholarly taste, and nothing was as 
much to his liking as a quiet room and time for study. 
He used, however, to practice medicine, driving about 
in a yellow gig, and when he had completed his round 
going eagerly home to his books. When he was a young 
man in London, he not only greatly admired Mrs. Sid- 
dons, but he made scientific research into the method 
nature had bestowed on her, and on his observati(nis 
founded his ftxmous work on the Voice. He also gave 
some lessons to James Murdoch, Jind — who would not 
like to believe ? — the (iuality that set this actor a}>art 
from others, is, perhaps, just what he has from Mrs. 
Siddons ]jy gift of Dr. Rush. By the rule of contra- 
ries, this lover of solitude, of study, of unbroken quiet, 
thought fit to ask Miss PlKcbe Ann Ridgway to 
marry him, and she, governed by the same law, con- 
sented. This young lady did not love either solitude or 
quiet. She liked to read and to study, but she wanted 
to talk about her books, and she had a preference for 
authors who were living and could be asked to a dinner 
party. Her father was an old rennsylvanian. and 
during the time he was Consul at Antwerp the first Xa- 



158 A SVLVAX CITY 



]>f»h'«»iiic wars wvyv j^oim: "ii. mikI llir keen old Quaker 
lunif«l ><» iu;iii\ Ii.»ii<-I i>( iiiiir- tliMi Mi» rixrlic l»rou<rlit 
Iht liu-lminl a hwu- t'urhiiic. 'I'lii- tli<' laltrr valued 
lK'caii>r il ;;a\c liini time t<> dt mMc lo |ii> rocarehes, to 
writr lii> lM>uk> and iiirrr;i-c hi- liluarv. His wife had 
<|uitr a- iiuich plra-iiiT in il. hiil >\\v had im mind to 
hinv any of it in inu-ty hooks. She luiiU herself a honse 
Milt ('h(>tnnt >trt'(t. in'ar Ninctcentli, larj]:e enough (o 
h'tjd fi'jht Inmdrcd L:m'>l-. In ht-r dininu'-room she had 
iwriity-livc tahles, which could he pni in a lon^^ row l(» 
scat a ;^'r«'at company, and with -alin furniture of ^Mtjd 
ami hhic. with minor- every where, with lmH tahle> and 
inarhle fi;:ure>. with \elvet and uold. Aw made the h<>ii>e 
a wonder of hrillianey. An army of servants lan 1h re 
and there. \\'hrn -he ua\c a ^rreat paity they Iii:lited hx 
thoii>and wax candle-. K\ » ly wheic there wa> life and 
movement, people arri\ iiiu'. people departiiii:. and in the 
mi.l-t of it all moved .Mr-. |{u>h. lar-e and ruddy. ,-o.hI 
humored and -eiierou-. She wa- not iL;n<»iaiit. and >he 
knew what wa- 'uun\. hiit -he wa- not critical, ami she 
took a -reat intere-t in people. If >he liked the poet 
who read hi- unpuhli-hed poem- to her. that was 
enou^ih. even if hi- nci-c- were had. and her pity for 
thearti.M who h;i,l no other patron, -ave her helief in 
his future. She did not hlaiiw people l.eeau.M- they had 
not .-ucceeded, hut u'ave h. r waiui. -tron^hand to many 
a poor soul who had never heloiv known so friendly a 
«:ra-p. Her hu-haiid. in a ivnioie corn, r of the huildinL^ 
far .-If from all thi- ;,'oin;: and eomiii-. thi- dancin- and 



THE OLD PHILADELPHIA LIBRARY, 



159 



singing, this talk of art and of people, wondered over 
]Mrs. Rush's likings, but he never interfered, and .she liked 
best to have him content and to live her own life. She 
had her own delinite amlntions, and she meant to revo- 
lutionize rhiladeljihia society. Slie saw no reason why 
society should be broken into so many sets, or why so 




STAIRWAY AT HISTORICAL SOCIETY. 



many good peoi>le should not know each other ; so from 
her spacious house she sent invitations here and there, 
and she bid to her great l)alls every one she thought 
had a claim of family, fortune or merit. At lirst people 
came willingly enough, but they soon discovered that 
they did not like such promiscuous company. The 



IGO 



.1 >}7. r.LV riTY. 



litiiiilii > who lived south of Market street were not ilh- 

|io>r(l h) inaki- \i>iliii,i:" ;i(<iu;iiiilaiici' with llio-u wlio 
lived iKMilj (»riju- sacred Jhahniiii boundary, and the eni- 
l»loyer did not want his ilauu^hter to danee with his elerk. 
Tluv had ni> conminn i:r<>und oliuteiist, and instead ot 
the halls havini; a eosniopolitan eharucter, they delined 
elasses even more elosely than l)etore. Peo})le he;j;an to 
und(r>taiid who il wa-- they ou.uht iu>t to know, and 
( ach >c't drew into itself with stilfer reserve. J)Ut Ma- 
dame Kush «lid not lox* lu-art. She wi>hed to l)e a leader 
ill soeiety. and >hr aiiiu-dat having a iarm- eonstitueney. 
She had the and>itioii of a Napoleon, and she meant to 
make new houndary \\\{v> and aholi-h fKiilious dilfer- 
euees. Her fiixht was ^xallanl. Itut ahhou-h she Itrou-ht 
all thai money, anihilion and iiospitality eould do to 
help her. >hi' Tailed, and >he eoneiliated no one. She had 
no x.lveiii to work with, and lieraliin forces would not 
eond>int'. Still >he ,li,l her jtarl in loreinu asumler the 
walls that were hardenin- aronnd '"old IMiiladelphia,'" 
and fresh air rushed in. 

In is:)7 she died.a-cd fifty-eiuht. and then for twelve 
yt'ar> the ;,M-eat housi- stood silent and closed. In the 
centre of fashion and life, its darkened windows made it 
look like a tonil). I)u>l settled ovei' everything;, and 
i^rass ;,MH'W where it could. Dr. Uuslfs life, however, 
went on withont alteration. He likely enouiih enj(>yed 
the silence, and the udoom reproented to him a >ane and 
seu»ihlc liU". In this deail (piiet he. to(.. ihoii-hl of his 
fellow-eitizeus. and had \\\> own \ i-ion> of a ho>pitality 



THE OLD PHILADELPUIA LIBRARY. 161 



thai would be elevating and of permanent value. He 
had no frivolou^s ideas of entertainment, and he loved 
art just so far as it was justilied by seience. He had in- 
herited all his wife's property, and he worked out a 
sehenie that would make the eity his heir, and at tlie 
same time raise a noble memorial to her memory ae- 
cording to his own ideas. 

So the liidgway Branch of tlie Philadelphia Library 
is Dr. Rushes legacy to the city and his monument to 
his wife, and no man and woman have ever slept in a 
more magnificent tomb than this one. It stands in the 
midst of a spacious green lawn, a granite copy of the 
Parthenon, 2'20 feet long and 105 feet wide. Its great 
columns and broad steps, the magnificent centre hall, all 
lead to the quiet enclosure where, on a plain marble 
slab, is written : 

SACRED 

TO THE MEMORIES OF 

MRS. PHCEBE AXN RUSH, 

DAUGHTER OF 

JACOB AND REBECCA RIDGWAY, 

AXD WIFE OF 

JAMES RUSH, M. D. 

BORN, DECEMBER OD, A. D. 1799 ; 

DIED, OCTOBER 23d, A. D., 1857 ; 

AND OF 

JAMES RUSH, M.D., 

THIRD SON OF 

DR. BENJAMIN AND JULIA (NEE STOCKTON) RUSH. 

BORN, MARCH 15tH, A. D. 178(3 ; 

DIED, MAY 26TH, A. D., 1869. 

Around these sleepers are rooms and galleries filled 
with over eighty thousand of the books the husband 



163 A SYLVAN CITY. 



ImvcmI. The Loiraniiin Library is licrc. and the Preston, 

:iii(l ;ill (111- \vnrk> on science and learning wliich were 
printed iK-tore IS.')!") and ow lU'd l)v tlie Pliiladelphia Li- 
Itrarv. Tlie Docloi- was carefnl that notliinu: frivolous 
(•r mnneaning siionld >i)<>il tlie sacred sanctity of this 
building. ""Let it not." he said in his will, referring to the 
library,'" let it not keej) cushioned seats for time-wasting 
and lounging reader>. nor places for those teachers of di.**- 
jointed thinking, tlie daily new>i)ai)er>. except. i)erliaps. 
lor relereiiee to >ni)port. >iiice Mich authoi'ity could 
never prove, the authentic date of an event."" These 
halU were not to he " eiieundxred with the ephemeral 
liioirraphic-. novels and works of tiction or annisement, 
new-pa per-> or periodicals, which t'onii so large a ])ortion 
of the current lileraluie of the day."" The ho>piiality 
the lm>l»aiid olVered was magnifK-cnt. hut it drew the 
lines the wile had tried to break, and made a most 

exclusive Use of her lortuue. 

The>e were sonic of tile conditions in this will which 
made the sto<-kholdersof the lMiilad«dphia Library hesi- 
tate before accepting the legacy. It was easy to assent 
to the coiulition that the hall was never to be used for 
lectures or exhibitions, and no collection or museum 
wa- ever to have a place thei-c. It was easy to agree 
that not more than one-fourth of the directors should 
belong to any one of the learned ])rotes>ions. and that 
it should ne\.i- he united to any other body. cori)orate 
or jtolitical: but it wa> not well to accept a building 
that would exclude the maioritv of books in circulation 




HISTORICAL SOCIETY— THE BAT WINDOW. 



THE OLD PHILADELPHIA LFBRARY. ICm 



among readers, nor to carry the old librar}' from its 
convenient quarters far down town to the site chosen 
])y Dr. Rush and insisted upon by his executor. Lono; 
and perplexing were the consultations of the directors, 
and many the legal appeals, but in vain, until at last 
they cut the knot. The old Library had a building 
fund of 1125,000, and had l)ought a lot at the corner of 
Locust and Juniper streets. Here they decided to erect 
a convenient and connnodious l)uilding for the circu- 
lating department of the Library, where the pul)lic 
could find all the '-disjointed,'^ ''ephemeral" and 
" popular '' literature in which it rejoices. This de- 
cision left the executor free to use the million of dohars 
left by Dr. Rush in building the splendid sarcophagus 
at Broad and Christian according to his own mind. 
In this \vay the terms of the will have been met, and, 
perhaps, wisely, but it adds another to the "special" 
libraries so numerous in Philadelphia. We have the 
Philosophical, in its delightful rooms in the old State 
House building ; the Historical, the Franklin Institute, 
the Athenaeum, the different professional libraries; 
but, with the exception of the Mercantile, we have no 
library wdiere all departments of literature are repre- 
sented. All the others are limited and devoted to 
special subjects. The great pity is that Dr. Rush did 
not see his fine opportunity. He had money and he had 
learning. If, in addition, he had had something of the 
broad, clear vision of Benjamin Franklin, the liberal 
public spirit of James Logan, or a share of the generous 



166 A SYT.VAX CITY. 



impulse of liis wiff, ho could have continued their work 

iij :i <-(>iii:.-iiial >i>irit. He could >till liavr i^ivcn Phila- 
delphia what is without (juestion the tinest lihnirv 
Ituildiiiif in the world, hut not have surrendered to sonu* 
out' rlx*. as he ha>. the honor of tbuudinu a roniprtdien- 
sive, grt-at Fri-i' Lil>rary in his native city. 



QUAKER AND TORY. 



The traveler who walks the streets of Philadelphia 
to-day with the idea that in them are to he seen the dis- 
tinct elements that in times past went to make up the 
life of the eity tinds small trace of the characteristics 
for which he looks. The distinctive dress of Quakerism 
is practically a thino- of tlie past. The country mem- 
hers may still come in to Quarterly or Yearly Meeting 
in the scoop ])onnets and ))road-])rinnned hats, the dra)>s 
and hrowns of an earlier day, hut the city (Quaker is 
modified in si)ite of himself. Their protest is still felt ; 
for the elders in smo<)th-l)an(led hair and lines of dra- 
pery unhroken hy •• trlmminu' •."' for the younger who 
have yielded to its seductions, in a refusal of all tawdry 
forms of ornaments and a suhdued and quiet elegance 
both of material and hue, which makes the Philadelphia 
woman the best dressed woman of the day. 

But neither on Arch Street, the very home and sanc- 
tuary of Quaker C\mservatism, nor on Spruce and Plnc^ 
once the abiding place of stately and indignant Tories, 
scornful and skeptical over all new theories of a govern- 
ment without a king, can the seeker- tind more than a 
suggestion of the shari)ly-dennrd dividmg lines of the 
past. Their traces are not hidden in brick and moi tar, 
167 



168 



A SVLVAX CTTY. 



or lovt with fa-t-vaiu>liinix liindinnrks. but are iiiouUltHl 
iiiir«tiivciuu>ly ill the miiid of llic people, l>y all old eoii- 
tlilioiis. anil >lio\v to tin- stiidi-iil of social science to- 
day the form of urowlli and dcvclopineiil lo he i'Xi)ect»'d 
from >\\i'\\ seed. 

Tlu- Torv -till lives and moves and has his bcinu'. hut 
even l<t him come uleanis of the >iiiiil of the a^c : " van- 
i-hiiej:^, I'lack misuivinus."" il may he, hiil all ]>i'o- 
I>helieal of a time when hi- individuality, with it- 
ohstinaey and ohtu-ene-> and xdf-sat i-fied alisurdities, 
will al-o he hi-lorical perhai)>. at la-t. e\en mythical. 

To-day. -ide hy -ide w ilh the man oltlu- i»re-enl. he has 
heen heard lt> -ay. tenapin-iilaie in hand and w inc-iilass 
.lelieately held aiid eyed \ -Sir. had 1 m.l had the forlmie 
to he horn in a -pliere of socieiy which re;:ards litei'a- 
liir«' a> a di-repntahle pur-nit. I iniLihl. without scruple. 
say I should have heeii a -hininu liuhl in the American 
iulelh'ctual lirmainent."" 

'i'hi- i- the 'I'ory with a jK-di-ji-ee. and povvevvinu uiany 
of till- \irtues of the man with a j)edinrce w h(». in spite 
of hiniM'lf, iiiii-t seek to live uji to its traditi<»n-. 'J'he 
middle-ela— T.iry. the e..unteri>art of the "• I'hili-tiiU' "" 
element ill liiiLdand hewailed hy Matthew Arnold, has 
all the prejudi<-es. all the slui»iditie- ol the lir>t-ineii- 
tioned variety, with no mitiualioii of (Milture oi- liu,- 
hrecdiiiLr. l-'rom one t>t these, like the I'ai^lish IMiilis- 
tineowninua uii: and settled int<»a pio-pcrou- dullness, 
came the other day a comment cipially siL'iiilicant of 
the -[(eakei"- mental attitude : 



n"l!il!]lli!f(!il[| JIJI jl<ik',If, f ;i\k^ (, rj>l ^h HpHj.^ii 




t ^i 



QUAKER AND TORY. 171 



" Philadelphians don't care as much for Atlantic 
City as they did. You see nol)ody goes there much 
now but Germans and Jews and editors and that kind of 
people.'"' 

The Quaker has outstripped the Tory, but even the 
Quaker tarries in the race. Too much terrapin is said 
to be the reason for tlie loss of intellectual supremacy 
once claimed by Baltimore, and too much old family, 
which is only a synonym for an over-supply of terrapin, 
may be the cause of certain features perceptible to the 
looker-on, but the existence of which is denied by the 
subjects of such observation. To-day is inexplicable 
unless one returns to the time in which these forms, 
crystallized now into something almost unalterable, 
were still chaotic, moved by each fresh current, yet 
even then sknvly gathering shape and character. 

The Philadelphia of to-day has settled into a fixed 
and seemingly unchangeable mould. One passes through 
street after street of houses so like one another that at 
last the belief becomes fixed, that one has only to touch 
some central kncjb to see each front slide up and reveal 
every family doing exactly the same thing at the same 
moment in the same way. The uniformity is first 
amusing, then irritating, then depressing, and is ac- 
cepted at last as the solution of certain Otherwise unex- 
plainable characteristics. Monotony long continued has 
deadened perception, mental and spiritual. Progress is 
unnecessary where every one is perfectly comfortable 
and convinced that improvement is needless, and thus 



172 



A STL VAX CITY. 




ail aml)iti«uis and activc-mindiMl man finds it easy to 

luToiiir iM-:i.ti<ally uvaAvv ..f lln- >talr : tlu- statute 
l„M,k >lill h«>l(l> la\v> al>oli>ln'.l in luarly every otluT 
part of the riiinii. and llir nHU'-v ..f iuil)lir action 
on any point .Ira.u- to a deixive that drives the tew 
t-ager ivtonner> well ni.Ldi to iHadne>s. Nevertheless, 
reform «;oe^^ 
on. The spirit 

•f tlie foimd- "^ -^ir^^^ ^^'-.^:l^-^. V 
ei> iM-inam-. ■:^" "' - ~-^-<&~a..!L^^ 

Packed and 
luoiildrd, as 

the mass may 

Im', in a lieavy 

eon ««i> teney, 

tlie leaven is 

there and wi-rk.- seeretly to il> dotined end, the .-tory of 

the pa-t -_'iviM'i the key to the future. 

With the «tp«'irm.u of 17"><» Thiladelphia was still a 
"jiieen country town."' each house surrounded hy i;ai- 
deiiN and tre»'> and fuie oiihard- ><> iiuinerou> that 
peaches were fe«l to pi-j:>. l*rofrssor Kalni. the Swedish 
naturali>t, whoM- *• Travels into Xorth America** are 
still of intere->t to the hotani-l. marveled at the profu>e- 
m-> of all I'orni- of f.....!. miil wn.lc niihcr dolonni-ly : 
"The coiuilry penplc in Swcdni and I'inland u'liard 
th«'ir turnips inoic carrfully than the peopU- here do tlu- 
m<)>t e\<pii>ile frnil^." 

A pmlitahle, thouiili x'uitwhat ciicuitcnis and in- 



IU.\ B.\UT1{A.M, HIS BIBLE. 



QUAKER AND TORY. 175 

volved commerce benefitted all. Toleration attracted 
immigrants, and life was on a milder and easier basis 
than in the Xew England Colonies, partly from the 
gentler orthodoxy, parti}' because natural aspects were 
seldom strenuous or terrible. Quakers then numbered a 
little more than a third of the population, and discounte- 
nanced all amusements, but the rest of the people en- 
gaged freely in many forms of innocent enjoyment. Xew 
England, under the dynasty of the Mathers, was going 
through the blood-curdling and soul-crushing terrors of 
that religious system which to-day has its reaction in 
the "Free Religious Association" and the '' Radical 
Club." Whitfield for a time darkened the Philadelphia 
sky with the terror no man ever better succeeded in 
exciting, but the effect soon passed, and the mild Phila- 
delphians returned to their easy-going lives. Quakerism 
had meant deep spiritual perception, and in the begin- 
ning a crusade against all accepted facts and theories of 
the time, that set them a hundred years in advance. 
With nothing to protest against in the new home their 
zeal naturally died, and for the most of them there 
remained and continued only the features by which 
Philadelphia is best known, " thrift, uniformity, sedate- 
ness, cleanliness and decorum, with a toleration of all 
opinions and observances." 

Social life among them was in one sense unknown. A 
people who relied on the inward light and scorned the 
learning of this world, shut off at one touch all usual 
sources of entertainment. Hospitality alone remained 



ITC .1 SYLVAX CirV. 



— liiintinLT. shootiiii:. ilancing assemblies, music or fairs 

\h\\v^ :i11 prnhil.itr.l. l.iit tli<ir In^s l.ciu-- niailr uj). as tar 
a> nii'jht Itc, l»y lavish ciiti liainmnil. Al Stciiloii. con- 
sidcrrd "a \y.\\;ur in il> day,"" lived .laiiirs J.di^an. llir 
litr-loiii: IVii'iid and Mci-clary of I'ciin. a man. like 
many of the i-arly (^Miakcrs, of Icarniii- and xliolarly 
(a>lc, wliosi' library, ItoqiH-atlu'd at liisdcalli tMiluciiy, 
is >till a ran- and in>[\\ cuUcciion, l>rin,u- opccially i-i«i) 
ill h'pil and medical tnalisrs. TIr- reiuH of drab liad 
not bruMm, for at tht- decorous dimu-rs andsui)i)ers uiven 
al Stenton lb( re is record already -ivenof '-wbite satin 
[)ctticoal> worked in tlowers. pearl satin j^'owus or itcacb- 
(olnn-d satin clonk--, (be wbile necks were covered wilb 
deli«-ate lawn, and ibey wore Li(»ld cbain> and seals en- 
;,'raven witb llieir arm-." 

ll ua- llie reiun of wi:^-. Kveii tlie serious-mindi'd 
(^>naker yicMed lo the sjk ll. Tenn'.- i>iivale expense 
b.iuk sbuw- funr in one year. ICxcn i>auiter> claimed 
tlniM a> an inalienable ri^bt. and a sbijj-load of coii- 
\ ids ba\inu luen bron'^^rbl o\cr were imi)t»>ed ujioii Ibe 
nnlbrinnale renn>\ Ivanians as '• re>i)eclable servants" 
by simi>ly diirnityiiii; eaeli one wilb a cbeai) but vo- 
lnminon> wIl'. Franklin, dis<lainful as be wa> o|" sbow 
and ariifieialily, looks out on u- in llie earliest pur- 
tiail cxlanl from a si iff and tremendous b«»rsc-bair wii;. 
Wristbands readied nearly to tbe elbows, met tbere 
by sliorl and deep-enlfed enal sleeves, and snowy rnUbs 
covtred llie manly bosoms of (^uak«'r and Tory alike. 
lint elegance, save in a few isolated instances, was 




HAMILTON UOUSE, VVUUDLAMJs CEMETERY. 



QUAKER AND TORY. 179 

impossible in auj' modern sense. There was wealth 
enough for the general eomtort ; pauperism was practi- 
cally unknown, but lite was frugal, limited, and, to our 
modern apprehension, inconceivably slow. The daily 
newspaper was undreamed of, a monthly, the size of a 
sheet of Congress paper, holding all the news demanded 
by the Colonists. Carpets, save in one or two of the 
more statel}' houses, were an undesired luxury, fresh 
sand being c(msidered more healthful. Spinning and 
weaving were still household occupati<nis, and Franklin 
rejoiced in being clothed from head to foot in cloth 
woven and made up by his energetic wife. The store 
formed a part of the dwelling house, and if a mer- 
chant had more than one clerk he was regarded as 
doing a perilously large business. '' Society " then, as 
now, was made u}) of a very small number; a single 
set, that even as late as 1790 consisted only of '"the 
Governor, two or three other otlicial persons, a great 
lawyer or two, a doctor or two, half-a-dozen families 
retircMl from business, a dozen merchants and a few 
other persons . . . who had leisure enough for the 
elegant enjoyment of life." 

The amusements of this society l)efore the Eevolution 
were of the same order as prevailed in the mother 
country. The young man of good family and ex- 
pectations devoted himself to deep drinking and the 
practical jokes of beating watchmen, twisting oti" door- 
knobs and knockers, changing signs and all the light 
diversions made familiar to us in the literature of the 



ISO 



A SVLVAX (ITT. 



tiLrlitcrnth ctMitiirv. For the rich this was im rely 
\<»iitliliil flU'ivi'x-ciicf. and yoiiiio Williaiii INiiii was 
ihf li-adt T in fxct'sscs tliat iicccssiiatcd his recall to 
Kii-laiiil. and half hrokc his l"athL-r"s lu-art. For liu- 
soil and lor various siiccccdiiiL!: u»'iu'ralions of Ftini- llir 
(tld Adiniral"- trails iirovrd puw crful I'lioiigh lo he l lir 
iiihcrilaiicc <»f iiiii>t of his dr«-ciiidanls, who jiasM'd from 
C^iiakeri^^ni lo ToiN i-^in with itrrfcct facihly, hcaih'd by 
young- WiUiaiu Feiin, wh<t. furituis at (.^Uial^i r inUrfr- 




A; " 




ON TIIK Wl-is MiK Ko\— Tin: oi.l) I.IVK/ICV IIOISE. 



QUAKEll AND TORY 



18\ 



rence, amioiuiccHl hinisrlf a rMuiivb of Eiiolaml man, 
and remained so to his death. 







GARDEX GATE OF THE OLD LTVEZEY TTOTTSE. 

Tn the market-place stood pillory, wliippino-post and 
stoeks. AVomen were puhlicly whipp.'d as lale as ITf.O, 
and the ^' pnblie whipper ^' had a salary of ten pounds 
ii year. The eonntry people who came in twiee a week 
over the almost impassable roads, reoarded this as one 
of the essential sights of market-day, whi<-h in 17-29 
found a po(4ieal deseriber. TImhi, as now, Jersey was 
chief purveyor, the wa-ons crossing over by way ..f 
Market street ferry, the market itself extending up the 

street. 

" An yew l)Ow's aistanoe from the key-luiilt stranil 
Our court-house fronts C-.ipsarea's pine-tree land ; 
Throujvh the archM dome an.l on each side tlie street 
Divided runs, remote a^ain to meet. 
Here eastward stand the trap foi- obh.riuy 
And petty erimes— stocks, ])ost and pillory ; 
And, twiee a week, heyontl, liuht stalls are set, 
Loaded with fruits and flowers and Jersey's meat. 



IS'i A SYLVAN CITY. 



Westward, conjoin, the shambles grace tlie court, 
Brick piles their long extended roof support. 
Oil west Ironi these the country wains are seen 
To crowd eadi hand and leave a breadth between." 

The fju'inci's who came in from the west were often 
miifd. and the coiKlition of tlie rnnds was such tliat 
pK-asiin-ridin^ was practically almost unknown, there 
hriuL^ up to ITSd n()t nion- than a score of pleasure ve- 
liiclt's in the i-nlirc pro\inct'. The internal coinnu'rce of 
the state was chietly hy means of jjack-horses, ami as 
market-wa«rons increased they were either ])rovided with 
lo(k-(haiu> for the wluMds. or a heavy lojj; was tied to the 
waijon and trailed on iIk i^round. its weiuht heinii essen- 
tial in the mountain ro;id>, cut into dee]> iiullies on one 
side, while the olln-r wa> made uj* of hlocks of sandstone, 
the dex-enl heiuu v«'ry like u(Mnu- down a tliuht of stone 
stcjis. Tlie"( "onestoiia wauon *" still in um' is modeled on 
tlie pl:iu ol" (lie eai-liest vehicles. An adventur(Mis Quaker 
ulio left riiiladelphia in 17S4 to make a home in the 
interi<u- of the state, has left a description of the Joui-- 
ney worth the consideration of those who «:rumhle at 
U'ss than tliirty-fi\e miles an hour. The family were 
father, mothi'r, three youmj; children and a boimd hoy 
offourleen. Three pack-hiU'ses foinied the train. On the 
fu->t rode uiother. youULT hahy and the tahle furniture 
and <M)okini^ uten>ils ; the second carried the provisions, 
plow-in)ns and ai:ricidtnral tools ; the third hore a 
pack— addle and "two larire creels, made of hickorv 
withes in the manner of a crate, one over each side ol 
the horse, in which were stowed beds, bedding and wear- 




t) ~ 




QUAKER AND TORY. 185 



iii^ apparel. In the centre of these creels was left a 
vacancy, jn.st sutticient to admit a child in each, laced 
in, with their heads peeping out therefrom." Behind 
this company paced two perplexed and serious cows, the 
source of supplies for the journey. On the road, hardly 
wider than an Indian trail, they were often met or over- 
taken by long trains of pack-horses, those from the 
west he2ivmg peltvij and (jinsenu ; those going west, kegs 
of spirits, salt and packs of dry goods. 

The Quaker, however, seldom went beyond reach of 
his own people and special means of grace, or, if he mi- 
o-rated, did it in bodies, small colonies at intervals leav- 
ing the quiet comfort of the city for the wild woods of 
the interior. Each year found them a little more torpid 
and peace-loving— a little less disposed to be disturbed 
in the daily routine of money-making and money-saving. 
The city grew steadily, and prosperity seemed universal, 
but the Arcadian innocence often supposed to l)e the 
condition of the early settlement was by no means the 
real state of the case. Politics were quite as corrupt 
then as now, and Frond's "History of Pennsylvania" 
gives facts which show not only hotly-contested elec- 
tions, but that the office-seeker was the same creature 
then as now. The unmanageableness of American poli- 
ticians had become apparent as early as 1704, when 
Penn records that men who were modest enough when 
lost in the crowd in England, in America "think no- 
thing taller than themselves but the trees." 

Tory and Quaker, though sharing equally in the 



is(; A STLVA^' CITY. 



ir-»vi'rnim'iit, wen- often :it cross-ijurposcs, llu* lU'cessary 
calls fur militia hciui: always seasons of heart-luu'ning 
for hotli sides. The younuci' ucneralion of (Quakers 
were often renegades from a faith growing more and 
more rigid as to f(trm, and with the stormy days of tlie 
devolution many Joined the army, and thus read them- 
-elve> "out of nu'cting," though restored in st)me eases 
oil a (jualified eonU-ssion, or expression of sorrow that 
eiicum-tanees had forced them to violate their prin- 
eiplc.. 

Ihit the period iVom 174(1 to ITTo was one of quiet 
provprrity and a giadnal increase, not (»nly of wealth, 
hut of means foi- intellectual enjoyment. Franklin's 
vivid intelliLicnce had made it> way. his leathern apron 
l>rovingn«» har to admission into a >ocicty the decorous 
dullne» of which needed eveiT mitigati<Mi he could give. 
Shrewd, liir-sighled and keen, his humor never (h'gene- 
I'ated into cynicism, and liis catholic and tolerant nature 
made IViend>hip with e\-en tin- most opposing elements 
possihle. From a dispute in a tavern i)arlor to a church 
(piarrel, he listened to ditferences and suggested solu- 
tion- with a calm countenance scliooU'd to hide the in- 
ward chuckle. 

Agitators hi-ouuhl their schemes lor reiorm ; conser- 
vatives tiieir plans for repi-ession. The fieice and irre- 
pre-vililc litth- lienjamin Lay insisted uj^on his co-ope- 
ralioii iu a scheme t»» conveit all men to Christianity, 
and. with .Mi<ha.l Fovell and Al»el Nohle. the Trans- 
c-endeiitalists of that period, met at Franklin's house to 



QUAKER AND TORY. 189 



discuss preliminaries. Unluckily a grand dispute ensued 
as to methods. The apostles waxed louder and louder, 
each determined to convert the world after his own 
fashion. Benjamin Lay pounded the table and shrieked 
at the top of his piercing voice, and Franklin, who 
looked on in quiet amusement, finally separated these 
champions of peace and good-w411, advising them to 
give up their project until they had learned to govern 
themselves. 

John Bartram, called by Linnseus " the greatest 
natural botanist in the world," had made a home for 
himself near Gray's Ferry, where he built a stone house 
and planned the botanic garden, in wiiich, though long 
diverted from its original purpose, may still be seen some 
of the rare and curious specimens of trees and plants col- 
lected in his many botanical expeditions. Born a Quaker, 
he retained to the end the best features of that creed, 
Uving a life of constant charity, maintaining always the 
natural and equal rights of man, and thus naturally 
among the early protesters against slavery, but of so 
cheerful a temperament and winning a manner that an- 
tagonism was impossible in his presence. At seventy 
he undertook the last of his many journeys, w^hich had 
led him thousands of miles in the Southern States in 
search of materials for natural history and for his bo- 
tanical collection. Every scientific man abroad came 
into friendship and correspondence, and his house was 
the seat of a large though always simple hospitality, the 
earnest student in any direction finding welcome and as- 



190 A .SVLVAX CITY. 

sisstance. One son succeeded to the place, himself a dis- 
tinguished tiorist and botanist, as well as ornithologist, 
and confirmed inhis natiwal hcnt toward Ihe same life by 
every infiuenee about liiiii. Fi-anklin liad had his after- 
noon of kitc-tlying. and l)ad talked it over in 15artram*s 
sanded })arlor. Kittcnhousc. pale and quiet, had warmed 
in describing his orrery, or planning for better instru- 
ments and fa<-iHties in the new oljscrvatory, IJush and 
Ship})en and the eori)s of physicians, famous then as 
now, talked over plans of the new T'niversity. Kalm, 
the Swedish botanist, made his head(iuarters there, and 
every distinguished visitor from abroad found his way to 
the wonderful gai'den. the fame of whieh had brought 
Hartram the appointment from Kngiand as '• Uotanist 
to his Majesty (n'orgt* the Thiid."" The Philosophical 
Society was safely launched, and a i)o\vei-lul factorin th(> 
intellectual life of ijie city, and Thomas I'eiui had made 
gifts of both books and insiiuinenls. though his chief 
interest wa^ in exteudiu-j; ( 'liurch of l-jigland princijtles. 
.lames LoLraii. «>ne (»f the uu)>\ versatile yet deeply 
learned nun of llie time, an ardent (^)uaker. and yet as 
ardent an advocate Ibr icsisiance to British encroach- 
ments, made one in every meeting, tbmial or infor- 
mal, where scienlilic (|uesliun^ came up. represent inu: a 
development which to many (Quakers si-emed almost 
imi)ious. The doctors especially were regarded as not 
much lietter than l:1iou1s. and one gaunt and spectral 
(>naker maiden nami'd I.i'ah for many years was accus- 
tomed at intervals to pass the night, wrapped inablan- 




v^'-^v.^vM-" 



te'^'"'""' 



r 'K^ 



QUAKER AND TORT. 193 

ket, and stealing among the graves of the Potter's 
Field for the purpose of frightening them away. 

The up-town and down-town boys had, till the British 
occupation, nightly battles with sticks and stones, on 
one occasion suspending it to gaze upon George Boyn- 
ton, a young Pliiladelphian of such extraordinary per- 
sonal beauty and fascination that boys and men alike 
turned to look after him. " The most admirable among 
the fashionable young gentlemen of his day," says an 
old chronicle, '' sought after by young and old." From 
the Tor}^ Governor, Tlichard Peun, married to Mistress 
Polly Masters and holding high revelry in the stately 
house on Market Street, to Par.^on Duche's mansion, 
notable as himself, all w^elcomed the young Apollo, be- 
loved by Quaker and Tory alike, and Intterly mourned 
Avhen taken by the fever of 1793, which for a time 
threatened to depopulate the cit}-. 

Up to the date of the British occupation the various 
elements of the city had remained as distinct as oil and 
water. French Huguenots, refugees from the St. Do- 
mingo massacre, the Germans who made up the chief 
population of Germantown and the northern part of the 
city, the Swedes who still held their place along the 
Delaware, the English who retained all old habits and 
as yet had by no means taken on the features of the 
new life, and last the Quakers, more and more Tory in 
their sluggishness and terror at anything which threat- 
ened a suspension of profit, made up as diverse a set of 
elements as any city could show. To let one another 



194 .1 SYLVAy CITY. 



tliorouirhly nloiK^ was the one point held in common, 
and not till a conunKn danger torced united action did 
any n-al liarnu.ny of i)uri)(»>r prevail. Franklin's strong 
will, concralrd l)y a gentle and eoneiliating manner, 
carried all before it, and it wa> in great part through 
lii> inlluenee that the younger (^)uakers in many cases 
eiiter.Ml the army an»l the eUler forgot l)oth prudence 
and prineii)les and subscribed freely for i)opular needs. 
In >pile ol" war the city did nctt eease to grow, and, as 
the >eat of Congress and the sceni' of the tirst years of 
independent government, ])ecame of more importance 
than anv «»ther in the new confederation. Life changed 
in all way-. The low houses of the fn-st period had 
been replaced by buildings, the height of which was pro- 
toted ai:aiu-t by the old jx-oplc. who regardeil them as 
an invitation to lioth lire and lightning, liobert Morris, 
cautious, shrewd ami successful in all his financial man- 
agement of j)ublic interest>. had begun the imi)ossibk 
pala<-e ku<»wn a- "• Morri-" Folly. "" It co\-ere(l an entire 
s(|uare from ( holmil to Walnut and St-venth to Eighth. 
The architect's estimates had been for S«»U,tK)0. but 
nearly that >um had been expeudeil before il reached 
the lir>t -tory above grouiul. there being two and some- 
times three underLrround. made up of imunneralde 
arches, vault- and labyrinths. Marble had been used 
Ibr the whole, ornamented in ndief, but before the roof 
was on. impatient and indignant creditors, for whom no 
money remained, found their only re-<»urce would be to 
pull down, block by block, the vast mass of material 



QUAKER AND TORT. 



197 



which, put into smaller houses, might possibly bring 
some return. The " Folly " became a row of buildings 
on Sanson! Street, and only -- 

the underground laby- 
rinths, so massively built 
as to defy the reconstruct- 
ors, remain, and may pos- 
sibly puzzle future explo- 
rers. 

Many houses of lesser 
magniticence, but of equal 
interest, had been built 
during the second fifty 
years of the settlement, a 
few of which still remain, 
but chiefly in and between 
the city and Germantown, 
improvements having done 
away with most of those 
in the business part of the 
city. Whitpain's "Great 
House,"' Bingham's Man- 
sion, Loxley's house and 
Bathsheba's Bath and 
Bower have left no trace, 
but in Germantown many of the first buildings are still 
standing, one of the most interesting of these being the 
old Livezey house, occupied by families of the same 
name for two hundred years. 




KERAMICS 



AT STENTON. 



198 A SYLVAN CITY. 



Bo't of W. NiCOLL, 




. S6UU.0U 




7o2.U0 




9U0.UU 




450.00 




400.00 


aid, 


32.00 




10.00 




$3,144.00 



Continental money had had its day, ruining nuiny of 
the holders and hringing about a rate o-f prices only 
«(iualt(l in the last days of the Southern Confederacy. 
An orii^inul l)ill of purchases in 1781 is still to be seen, 
readini: as follows : 

L'Ai'T. A. .M( Lane : 
January .">, 17S1. 

1 pair boots, 

6^4 yiLs ralico at $85 per yard, 

6 yds of L-hintz at $150 do. 

4'^ yds moreen at Si 00 do. 

4 handkerchiefs at 5^100 do. 

5 yds quality bindiui^ at $4 per yard, 
1 skein of sUk, 

If paid iu specie, £18 IDs. 
Received payment iu full for W. Nichols, 

JoxA. Jones. 

Like that in New York, the Tory element of Philadel- 
phia wtlcoincil British occupation as the final settle- 
imiii of the in>oli-nt n-volt of the lower class against 
the hi.udi. and joined with the British othcers in such 
carnival as has never since been seen. The Walnut 
Street Prison was crowded with starving prisoners, the 
survivors for years telling stt)ries of abu.se and incre- 
dible suffering, oidy i)aralleled by Andersonville in our 
own ilay. (iernianlown had seen one of the sharpest 
l)attles of the war, and hardly a country seat but was 
filled with its <pi(»ta of wounded and dying. Many were 
burned, many inon* riddled with bulU'ts, and to-day 
under many a (luiet lawn rebel and oppressor are lying 



QUAKER AND TORY. 



199 



side b}^ side, all uukuowii to the generation who walk 
above them. In the midst of all this sorrow and mourn- 
ing ^vas projected one of the most extraordinary per- 
formances the countrj' has ever known. Balls, regattas, 
any form of amusement that could be devised, were held 
at every point of British occupation, but the story of the 
Meschianza at Wharton's country seat, at Southwark, 
the 18th of May, 1778, reads like a page of the " Arabian 
Nights." From the Green Street Wharf, then the only 
one of any size 
above Yine St., 
the brilliant 
company em- 
barked at half- 
past four in the 




BEFORE THE FIRE — STENTON. 



200 A SYLVAX (ITY 



afternoon, in a "grand regatta" of three divisions. Three 
tlat-hoats, each witii its band of music, preceded them ; 
an avenue of grenadiers f\waited them at the fort below 
Swedes' Church, with hght horse in the rear. Here a 
square lawn, one hundred and fifty yards to a side, 
formed the area for a tournament. Two paviUons held 
on the front seat seven young ladies dressed in Turkish 
costume designed by Major Andre, who acted as stage 
inaiiiiLrcr. wliilc in their turbans were the articles to be 
botowcd upon their several knights. Seven "white 
knights." in white and red silk, mounted on gayly- 
cap:ui><)ned hordes, followed by esquires in the same 
colors, entered to the sound of trumpets, the herald pro- 
claiming their challenge to the ''black knights," whose 
entry in l)lack and orange was (juite as imposing. All 
the Ibrms of a knightly tournament were faithfully fol- 
lowed. Four encounters, each with a ditVerent weapon, 
took place. All then ascended a flight of steps leading 
into a profusely -decorated hall, where the knights first 
received their favors from the ladies, and then drank 
tea to restore their weaki'ued energies. 

The ball-room awaited them, festooned with flowers 
reflected from eiirbty-live mirrors borrowed from the 
citizeu>, with lustres betwt'iii. Dancing and magniti- 
ceut lireworks occupied the evening. V\\ t<^ midnight 
four rooms, each with its sidcl»oard of refreshments, had 
served to keep up the spirits of the company; but as 
that hour mounded, folding doors, skillfully concealed, 



<' — ^ 




COURT HOUSE, SECOND AND HIGH STS. 
BUILT 1707, DESTROYED 1837. 



QUAKER AND TORY. 203 

sprang open and displayed a saloon two hundred and 
ten feet by forty feet, decorated with flowers, brilliant 
with wax lights, over three hundred of which were on 
the supper-tables, while twenty-four slaves in oriental 
dresses, with silver collars and In-acelets, served the 
throng. Major Andre wrote of it as '' the most splendid 
entertainment ever given by an army to its general," 
the whole expense having been borne by twenty-two 
field officers. The only American gentlemen present 
were aged non-combatants, but fifty young unmarried 
American ladies and many more married ones were 
there. One month later, the rebels, supposed to have 
been rendered hopeless, marched in and took posses- 
sion, many of the gay knights having barely time to 
escape. Later on the American officers of Washing- 
ton's command made a great ball for the officers of the 
French army, and at first refused to invite the Mes- 
chianza ladies. Second thought included them, but in 
the fear that they might lack partners lots were drawn 
and every means taken to prevent uncomfortable feel- 
ing, though privately the memory rankled for many 
years afterward. 

The Tory Quaker and the practically Quaker Tory 
are still to be seen, but the nineteenth century is doing 
its universal work, destroying all characteristic lines, 
and another generation or two will render distinction 
well-nigh impossible. Less interesting than in the past, 
the curious observer must be content with reproducing 



204 A SYLVAN CITY. 



the old conditions for himself, finding consolation for a 
more and more general uniformity in the fact that 
though individuality may be temporarily destroyed, it 
must again assert itself in time, and in more attractive 
forms than anything the past has known. 




-IvHAL *,K(>I i' FOU THE NEW POST-OFFICE. 
Designed by S. French. 



THE PHILADELPHIA POST-OFFICE. 




IFTY YEARS hence, when 
postal savings banks and 
government telegraph and 
express offices shall have 
been successfully establish- 
ed throughout the United 
States ; when the domestic and international money 
order and registry systems shall have been brought to 
practical as well as theoretical perfection ; when rapid 
transit local deliveries shall have superseded the present 
somewhat incipient carrier service ; when absolute 
honesty shall have been insured in every department 
by tenure of office, depending upon the efficiency and 
fidelity of employes ; and when, in fine, the mails shall 
have become the channels through which valuables of 
every class shall be transported at nominal rates and 
with entire safety — the contemporary merchant will 
look back on these days of fancied progress with as 
much amusement as we are wont to regard the meagre 
postal facilities which were enjoyed by our forefathers 
207 



208 A SYLVAN CITY. 



in early colonial times, when llie departing mails 
were '' pul)lished " in advance on the meeting-house 
doors. 

Sc-arcely more tlian a century ago all correspondence 
was transnutted from Philadelphia to New York by 
lumhcring stage-coaches, which occupied three days on 
ihe journey, while twenty-four days were consumed hy 
the \)o>i between the lir>t-named ])oint and Newport, 
A'irLrinia. Letters, in those days, were charged accord- 
ing to distance, the rates varying from eight to twenty- 
five cents. 

The lirst post-oflice in Philadelphia was presided over 
by Colonel Ihadford. in ITi'S. When Benjamin Franklin 
w;i> i)o>lm;i>ler. in IT.'JT, tiie i)ost-otlice was held in his 
private house. In his autobiography Franklin thus 
writes of his ai)poinlment : '' I accepted it readily, and 
found it of great advantage, for, though the salary was 
small, it faeililaled the correspondence that improved 
my newspaper, increased the number demanded, as well 
as the advertisements to l)e inserted, so that it came to 
alVoi-d iHc a considerable income.'' The business of the 
ollicc and the additions to its machinery nuist have 
increased very rai)idly during the next half century, 
as the eomini>sions accruing to the })osition in 171)7 ex- 
ceeded by several hundreds of dollars the present salary 
of the i)ostmaster. In the year 17SU Kobert Pattou was 
placed in charge of the otlice, and an interesting adver- 
tisement relating to the establishment of post-coaches 
for the ensuing year, with the dates of their arrival and 



THE PHILADF.LPHIA POST-OFFICE. 211 

departure, was inserted by him in a magazine of that 
date, in whicli it is set forth that : 

"The Western Mail for Lancaster, York-Town, Carlisle, 
Shippensburg, Chambersbnrg, Bedford and Pittsburg, will 
close on Thursday, the 7th January, at sunset, and after 
wards on every second Thursday through the year, and 
will arrive on the next Thursday morning." 
The notice conckides with the following advice : 
"As there are several places of the same name in the 
United States, the merchants and others are requested to 
be very particular in the direction of their letters, in order 
to prevent their being wrong sent ; and when letters are 
not for a post town, the nearest post town to the place 
ought to be mentioned. As the utmost punctuality is ne- 
cessary, it is requested that letters will be left in due time, 
otherwise they will be detained until next post day.*' 

The Philadelphia Post-Offlce has been located since 
1728 in about twenty places, and has been presided over 
])y thirty postmasters. In 1884 it was situated in the 
Philadelphia Exchange. AVhen the present building- 
was first occupied by the department in 18G3 it was con- 
sidered one of the most extensive and completely-ap- 
pointed establishments of the kind in the country. Now 
it is wholly inadequate for the proper transaction of tlie 
immense l)usiness which falls to its share. The interior 
of the office presents the appearance of a huge bee-hive. 
All the three hundred clerks are busily engaged in 
the discharge of their respective duties, and the three 
hundred carriers are occupied at their tables "set- 
ting up their hands " for delivery. The postmaster 
is deeply absorbed in answering his voluminous mail, 



212 A STLVA2^ CITY, 

or may bo i^een circulating among the various d('i)art- 
iiU'Uts overseeing the work — with tlie smallest dt-tails 
(tf wliieli he has made liimself familiar — suggesting 
improvements here, or instituting reforms there, and 
giving personal supervision to every branch of the 
service. In the front of tbe otlice two men are en- 
gaged in raking from a broad shelf into baskets the 
letters and papers which are constantly showering in. 
These are immediately carried to the stamping tables 
for cancellation. Here a dozen men may be seen stamp- 
ing at the rate of one Inmdred letters each per minute, 
and the thump, thumi) of the descending stamps is 
heard from dawn until far into the night. Farther 
back in the otlice sacks of papers are l)eiug hauled into 
the "riui:*" and eini)tied on tables, wlu're men ai'c en- 
gaged in sorting them by states and cities, which is 
done l)y pitching them into square partitions arranged 
ar(»uud the circle and extending up to the ceiling. On 
the outside of thesi' shoots canvas l)ags are attached by 
means of hooks. When the apertures hecome full, bolts 
are ili-a\vn. the lt;u-ks are opened and the ])apers tum- 
l»le(l into the >acks, which are thi'U tied up and shipped 
by mail wagons to the various depots. In the stamp and 
Ito-^tal card departments clerks are con>tantly occui)ied 
in supplying the demands of pui'chasers, the sales of 
sonu' days aLrgregatinLi nine thousand dollai's. For the 
accouunodation of citi/ens residing at a distance lioni 
the otlice, the jio^tmaslcr has recently established, in 
various parts of the city, lifty agencies for the sale of 




5=§ T 

















THE merchants' EXCIIVN( E \s V 



THE PHILADELPHIA POST-OFFICE. 215 

postage stamps. The extent of business transacted in 
tlie Philadelphia Post-Office may be miderstood when it 
is known that during the past year nearly three miUions 
of dollars were disbursed from the money order win- 
dows. 

The free delivery system, under the direct supervision 
of the postmaster, extends over the entire county, cov- 
ering an area of one hundred and twenty-nine square 
miles, and requiring the services of about four hundred 
and twenty-five letter carriers, or nearly eight hundred 
employes in all. Besides the central office there are 
twenty-six sub-stations located in difterent sections of 
the city, the largest of which are the West Philadelphia, 
Germantown, Manayunk, Frankford and Richmond 
offices. For the prompt conveyance of carriers from 
the main office to the central and outlying districts 
thirteen coaches are in constant use, Philadelphia being 
the only city where this admirable system is in vogue. 

There is, perhaps, no more promising field for the 
study of human nature in all of its phases than a large 
post-office. Many and curious are the characters who 
daily resort hither to inquire for letters which never 
arrive, or who find in the bustling corridors a fascina- 
tion which they cannot resist. For years a shabby 
man appeared regularly at the retail stamp window, as 
the clock was striking one, and purchased a one-cent 
stamp. This seeming mania finally being noticed by 
the clerks, acquired for him the appellation of "Old 
One-One." 



216 A SYLVAN CITY. 



'•Mistor,"' said a rural-looking female one day, "will 
you j^ive me a three eent stamp— and i)ut it on for me, 
please, as I am a stranger in the city." On another oc- 
casion, a man l)r<)Ught to one of the windows ten dollars 
in silver, which he desired to have sent hy registered 
mail. AVlu'U informed that he could not send so mucli 
<(.in in a hlter, hut must procure a note, he replied, 
with gnat disgust, "An' shure wasn't I afther bring- 
in" a hill wid me at furst, whin I see signs around on the 
linces, ^post no /y///.s,' so wid that I had me note changed 
inti) s])ashee to plaze yez.'' A few days before Christ- 
ma> a sI.miI lady presented for mailing a large paper 
hux. which. ui)on iiKpiiry, was found to contain two 
t'liormous. fir>hly-made mince pies, which she wished 
to send to 111 r daughter in California. On being told 
that such aiticles were unmailahle, she berated the 
<-lerk soundly for his impertinence, and, with great indig- 
nation, departed in (juest of a moreacconnnodating otlice. 
An a-piraul for diplomatic honors one day handed to 
tlw foreign clerk a I'ormidable-looking document ad- 
.livsscd to— 

MK. >nNISTEH K , 

< 'are of gueen Virtory, 

England, 

and afttr waiting to see that it was properly disposed 

ol. tmurtl away with an air of one who would not be 

trilled with. 

M:iny Ititcrs nre consigned to the mails whose direc- 

ti«ins arc i»n/./.lini: and otlen illegible. The average 

Celtic and Teutonic superscription is particularly l)e- 



THE PHILADELPHIA POST-OFFICE. 



219 



wilderiug, usually covering the face and frequently buth 
sides of the envelope. The writing of proper names is 
often more original than orthographic, and although 
men are constantly employed in deciphering these ad- 



i^iTr!?.,; 




COLLECTING. 



220 A SYLVAN CITY. 



dresses, thoy often meet with examples which tax their 
in.u'enuity to the utmost. A letter was received at 
IMiiladelphia bearing the somewhat comprehensive di- 
rection : 

JA'/AiKT IIlNKYFUOT, 

rit^burg Bhilatlelfy 

^^■esl, CiuiKleu 

oonty Peusilvaiiie iiierakaie, 

and another directed to — 

Frill Delimldubur 

S^proose fjtree 

No. 410131, 

with I he request '' ifc notjord plcse rcture " written in 
the corner. 
A tliird ad(h-essed to — 



M- 



rukscaiuite Terkasie 
Stelsen 
ranecyvUa, 

was finally translate*! : 

IJiiikf <'miiity, 

IVrkasie Station, 

rcuiisylvaiiia. 

It i> necdlos to >ay liial surh IcUi rs lind their way 
eventually to the '" 7W Lft( r nji,( " at '* WdsliiiKjUinti^'''' 
as one correspondent had it. Ahout Christmas time 
the averaur small l>oy lays hi> plan> for a rieh harvot of 
toys. He lloods the mails with e})i.stles addressed to 
Mr. S<i„hi Chins. /•>./.. S,i„la CI'iHs Stdtimi, Xoiih PnJr^ 
l*C)uisnlrniiii(, and cadi year hinulh-s of such letters arc 
forwarded to the Dead Letter Otlice. 

The new l*o-t-()tliee huildimr. now in coiu-se of erec- 
lion on >*'inth Street, is believed l>y some to be very 



THE PHILADELPHIA POST-OFFICE. 



223 



appropriiitely located on the spot where FrankUn drew 
the Ughtning from the cloud.«<. If .such is the case, the 
noble structure will form a litting, thougl\ unintentional, 
memorial to one of our earliest postmasters, who after- 
ward became Postmaster-General of the United States. 
The ncAV building, which is under the supervision of 
James G. Hill, Esq., of the Treasury Department at 
Washington, is in the style of the Italian renaissance, 




AT THE RAILROAD ELEVATOR. 



the material being granite from Virginia and Maine. 
The mass of the structure will be four and the remain- 
der six stories in height. The main frontage is on 
Ninth Street, where the lock-boxes, general delivery and 
stamp windows will be situated, with minor fronts on 
Chestnut and Market Streets. With the exception of the 
Chicago Post-Offlce, it will be the largest and most com- 
plete building of its kind in the country. The post- 



524 



A SYLVAy CITY. 




A MOMENT OF I,F:isri{E. 



master's private otTic(MV ill be 
located ill the soiitluaslern 
eoriK r. while the ;i»i>laiit 
])ostiiiaster ami cashier will 
occupy the apartments to the 
west of the Chestnut Street 
entrance. The court, wliicii 
is to he covered, will l)e de- 
voti'd to the carrier and mail- 
ing d«'pa rt men t s , and (he 
rcui-lrv rooms will l»e situ- 
ated in the rear of the luiildinu- iicxl lo Market Street. 
The soulhcrn half <»f ihc -ccond lloor will pi'ol»a1)ly 
he occu})ied by the money oidci- and inspector's de- 
partments, while the northern })oriioii is intended to 
l>e set apart for the I'nited States Courts. Four ele- 
vators will run from the l)asement to the upper sto- 
ries, and every modern improvement which can in any 
way facilitate the transaction of business, or contribute 
to the comfort and conveinence of the public, will ])c 
added. The line irroup of statuary which surmounts 
the main entrance, or rather stands hiiih above it, 
with the dark slate (»f the mansard tor a backi^^round, 
is the work of yiv. S. French. It is composed of three 
allegorical tlLjures representing Law, Armed Force, and 
Prosperity. On the left is a male limire seated leaniui: 
on a sword, on the right is Prosperity with theoverllow- 
ing cornucopia of classic fable, while between and above 
them both stands a female figure clad in a coat of mail 




I ^v^\v\^\\\\J. >^il•^^>^^ 



THE PHILADELPHIA POST-OFFICE. 



227 



and holding aloft the table of the law, in recognition of 
the hoped-for future when armed force shall be only the 
subject of the higher authority represented by reason. 
The architects promise to have the building ready for 
occupancy within the next two years, provided the 
necessary appropriations are forthcoming, and, when 
finished, Philadelphians will pride themselves in the 
possession of one of the handsomest and roomiest post- 
offices to be seen in any city of the globe. 




OFF FOR THE DEPOT. 



SHOP WINDOWS. 







KILE the 

cleanliness of 
the streets of 
Philadelphia has, 
with the wild es- 
cape des of the 
3'oungei' Penn and 
the visits of Kidd 
and his despera- 
does, passed 
-:j ^^1 into legend, 
'"• 'i' I the city has 
improved in many other things. Particularly has it 
become famous for its shop windows. Extremes often 



230 A SYLVAN' CITY. 



lead t(» thtir opposites, and from the chrysalis of neat, 
siinpli' (^iiaki'risni tliere has sprung an artistic \m\- 
tcrrtv. The monotony of quiet ])rick and wiiite shut- 
ters is relieved hy windows lilled with dazzling displays 
of everything which it has entered into the mind of 
man to Imy or sell. Forty years ago a gentleman 
from Europe ol (served that the shop windows of Phil- 
adelphia were l)y far the most elegant on the conti- 
nent and the only ones that reminded him of those of 
Paris. This peculiarity, singularly enough, can he 
traced to a very remote heginnhig. Every one familiar 
Avith the early history of Philadelphia is aware that 
there was a period during the Eevolntionary War when, 
despite the high juices, there was an incredible extrava- 
gance which has never since been equaled, save perhaps 
in the oil times. This was in the days of Robert Morris. 
It was then that i-eal displays were tirst made in the 
shop windows, and the custom has ever since been pre- 
served, lie fore the present generation of shoi)kee])ers 
there were only two or three who studied the beautiful 
in their manner of exhil)iting their goods. The suc- 
cess of these houses in fostering a high standard of good 
tasti' in this direction is best certified by the nmnbers 
who have followed in their footst<'ps. If coming events 
cast their shadows Ix'fore, these establishments were 
the forewarners of the i)resent glory, and were in their 
own time greatly admired. 

It is not merely from an esthetic standj^oint that these 
windows are interesting. They are of value in the his- 



SHOP WINDOWS. 231 



tory of the (Icvelopmcut of commerce and trade in 
Philadelpliia. Ex parr is ritaijim crescent., or, as tlie Scotch 
saviui;- has it, "Many a mickle makes a miickle."' and 
it is in the growth of window decorations that the 
ascent from the httle to the great in commercial circles 
is best marked. AVindow decoration has exerted a 
strong influence upon the decorators. Through its 
means men who were once keepers of small shops have 
risen to be at the head of large wholesale establish- 
ments. Candy jars and one cent shops have expanded 
into fashionable confectioneries and groceries. " Little 
by little the bird builds its nest," and little by little the 
attractive variety of molasses cand}' or ginger cake, 
daintily laid in the window, has led to elaborate de- 
vices in ices and meringues. Photographs of such win- 
dows would be the biographies of men or the history of 
firms. If a man's age can be told by the poetr}^ he 
reads, the condition of a tradesman's window will, to the 
keen observer, indicate the exact stage of his trade. 
There have been other men who, while rising through 
the influence of their shop windows, have at the same 
time changed the nature of their business just as some 
objects enlarge or petrify into entirely different sub- 
stances. There was once in Philadelphia a shop whose 
proprietor was a lover of art and antiquity, ])ut whose 
business was to sell dry goods. His own taste and the 
fashion of the age led him into dealing largely in Eastern 
fabrics. The only expression he was able to give to his 
artistic feelings was in the arrangement of these arti- 



232 



A SYLVAK CITY. 



cles. ]>v (li-apiiiL:- his lu.lia sliawis and rich oriental 
(•iiibroi(h'ri»'s antuiid Chinese jars lie luinul he eould not 
only gratify his esthetic instinct, luit draw <ai>toni. In 
this way he killed his two ])irds with one stone. l>ut 

Chinese jars were 

jiTjn like the new and- 

J>-/^(^ ' y f ' irons of the young 

C ~ i ,> A'''^-rrT'T^yi^ Woman HI rxuwh 

'^^^^t''rJ^>4^<MfMmr which led to a coni- 

plete refurnishing 
of the house, and 
the shop was l»y 
degrees reniocU'led 
to he in ke»'})ing 
with them. (Jra- 
dually (tther arti- 
cles, e(|ually foi-eii:n 
to his legitimate 
line of goods, but 
aliording an exctd- 
lent contrast to 
them, made their 
way into his win- 
dows, liieh ivory 
carvings, rare jew- 
els, dagi;ei-s ofantiijue W(»rkman^hii), piices of furniture 
of (piaint device, stole in one hy one, until the window, 
like the magic cave in the story of Aladdin, was con- 
stantly revealing some new heauty and splendor. In 




A I'i:K.VMlUI.ATIN(i SIIOI' 






'/^ J Cyr??2 - -:= /»! 1'.' 




SHOP WINDOWS. 235 



the end estheticism gained the day. ^'o\v his shop con- 
tains nothing hut curiosities and anticpiities, an occa- 
sional shawl, or roll of pongee, or old lace, heing the 
only reminder of its original character. 

Every trade or art has its legends and traditions. 
There are several stories current among retail mer- 
chants whose aim is to prove the great henetit wliich 
has resulted to business from tasteful arrangement 
of windows. Once there was a man— so one of these 
legends runs— who had had on his hands for many 
years some goods of which he could not possibly dis- 
pose. He grew wearier of seeing them, until it seemed 
to him that they were a heavier burden than the Old 
Man of the Sea, and that he was in sorrier straits than 
Sindbad. When the burden became greater than he 
could bear he shifted it to the shoulders of the auc- 
tioneer, a resource from which poor Sindbad was de- 
barred. A few days later, walking up the street and 
wondering with what he should fdl the space left by 
the sale of his goods, his eye lit upon a shop window 
which impressed him as containing a choice selection of 
articles of exactly the quality and quantity suitable to 
his purposes. And he went within to secure them, 
but found to his chagrin and amazement that they 
were his own despised wares arranged with some sense 
of appreciation and harmony. The ugly duckling was 
a swan after all. This story is told in many ways and 
with reference to many subjects. In advertising circles 
the tale is of a gentlemanly Proteus, who fell out of all 



236 A SYLVAN CITY. 



coiui'it with his beautiful country house, put it in the 
hiuuls of a real I'stalr aucnt, and then foil in love \\ ith 
it a^ain through llir ulowinu \v( rds of tlic literary 
Turner who descrilied its charms for the colunni of ad- 
vertisement.-. 

From the simitle cxhihition of wares, window deet^- 
ration ha- de\cloi)rd into a urand study of eolttr and 
design. Tho>e who know noihiiiu- (»f the inner woik- 
ing of sh'tps arc apt to think the white lace lying on 
the richly tinted silk, «>r the .Japanese eml)roidiry 
thrown carelessly over the low couch, came there hy 
chance, much as isolated houlders found their way 
into the meadow- and pine w(»ods <»f New Kngland : 
in some upheaval of slock they were hrought to the 
surface. The truth is that the wise shopkeeper of the 
present generation gives as nuich attention to the ex- 
hil)ilion of his wares as to the purchase of them. Heine, 
when he visitt-d London, was struck with the hrilliant 
effect of the shoi)s. and was (juickin perceiving that this 
was due not so much to the perfect finish of the articles 
as to the manner in which they were exhihited. "" There 
is also," he writes, "a i)eculiar charm in the art of 
arrangement, in the contrast of colors, and in the 
variety of the English shops. K\cn the most connnon- 
plaee necessaries of life apjxar in a startling magic 
light through this artistic ]»ower of settinu' forth every- 
thing to advantagi'. Ordinary articles of food attract 
us by the new light in which they arc placed ; even 
uncooked ti>h lie so delightfully dressed that the rain- 





^^s^' '^!»r( '-t 



^^m^'H 



>^^^-^ 










M#- --'-'I'i' I 



..Jl'te^;^ 



'^i:a;;:,ii* 



THE CORRECT TIME. 



SHOP WINDOWS. 2:^9 

bow gk'iiiii of their scak's attracts us ; raw meat lies, as 
if painted, on neat and many-colored porcelain plates, 
garlanded about -with parsley — yes, everything seems 
pauited, reminding us of the highly polished yet modest 
pictures of Franz Miei'is."' The shops of London still 
make fine displays, but for the most artistic decora- 
tions, Paris, Philadelphia and Boston are the now 
acknowledged centres. In these cities it is a business 
or an art in itself, to be adopted and followed like any 
profession or trade. Paris, as the headquarters of the 
world's buying and selling, has advantages which Ame- 
rican towns have not as yet acquired, and therefore it 
outshines them. Boston is fortunate in the ample size 
of its shop windows, in one instance an expanse of 
ninety feet giving the artist full scope for his powers. 
That these are great was well demonstrated in the 
sham organ built of hosiery and lace, with tooth-brushes 
for keys, which ornamented one of its "magazines" 
not many months since. But though Philadelphia is 
without the cosmopolitanism of Paris, and though its 
windows are smaller than those in Boston, the perfec- 
tion to which it has brought this branch of decorative 
art makes it a formidable rival. It does not boast of 
only one or two windows of rare attractions, but all are 
so tastefully arranged that to walk down Chestnut 
Street is to pass a succession of briUiant pictures. At 
one time professional decorators in this city went from 
shop to shop, visiting each probably once a week. But 
now that retail establishments have grown so large and 



240 A SYLVAX CITY. 



windows liavc multiplied, the principal firms have each 
tluir own artist who attends to all the decorations. 
Wlien there is an ovcri)lus of work, as there was on 
the death of President (iarlleld, upholsterers are called 
in to assist him. l>ut he is always the designer and 
director ujxin whom the responsilnlity for success or 
failure lies. Great skill is required to make a successful 
window artist. The most insignific;\nt display is regu- 
lated aci-ording to certain principles. The tirst i)oint to 
consider is color. The man who is color-blind cannot 
make this his niftier. There are shades and tints which, 
beautiful by them>elves, are ugly when brought to- 
gether ; and on the other hand harsh and unpleasant 
colors can be lieautified and softened by judicious 
management. The decorator values so thoroughly the 
e(>l(»r in tbe faliries he handles that he learns to make 
pictures with them as if they were pigments, and pro- 
duces effects which may be classified as " symplionies" 
and •'harmonies." and the rest. 

Within the past year one of our best artists in this 
line, to whom I am indebted for nuich of my infor- 
mation, gave a wonderful study of color in a marim- 
view. Out of muslins and linens and handkerchiefs he 
wrought a ship, whose white sails contrasted well with 
tlie "'di'cply darkly beautifully blue " sea of crepe. The 
scene expressed repose : the ship was at anchor, the sea 
was calm, and the Jaunty little doll sailors were arrayed 
in tbeir Sunday best. ( )nce. in jmssing through Boston, I 
saw by chance a comi)auion piece to this. It was a 



i>^^< 




^'^'^^^^^»T^^^M^^X 







Z%^ 



\i - - 

-r - 





SHOP WINDOWS. 343 

Turneresque sea view, modeled in larletans and bunt- 
ings. A vessel was on the sea, gallantly sailing over 
great waves of blue bunting. In the background were 
shadowy hills of tulle, which, like the white-towered 
city in the ballad, rose 

— " On the dim horizon 
As in a land of dreams." 

Time deals even more cruelly with these muslin works 
of art than it does with Turner's brilUant colors. The 
thing of beauty is not a joy forever, but is ruthlessly 
torn apart to be sold by the piece, and to make room 
for some newer pageant. 

Next in importance to color is the relation to one an- 
other of the articles in the window. In a display of 
pale evening silks, for example, thie laces and light 
gloves are introduced by the thoughtful artist, who, by 
a little tact, can literally force his goods on the unwary 
customer. He never crowds his window with hand- 
some fabrics, for he knows that quantity would detract 
from quality. When he feels doubtful as to the best 
method of working up the materials which are given 
him to exhibit, he begins as if he were making a decora- 
tive design with the pencil. He selects some one point 
to which he subordinates all the minor details. This is 
usually the centre piece, and once it is constructed to 
suit him the rest of the work is easy. These artists 
think very little of simple exhibitions of stock. Win- 
dows which are without design seem to them vei-y poor 
affairs. Their designing, however, really requires time, 



244 A SYLVAA^ CITY. 

and as the number of changes they are called upon to 
make i> urcat. they must content themselves with 
mauifi'sliug their talents at the principal holiday sea- 
sons. Before working out his design the decorator 
makes drawings of it. He corrects, and enlarges or 
diminishes, as the case may he. He adds a touch here 
and a toucli there, and perfects his idea in colored 
sketches on i)a}»er before he trusts himself to less 
easily managed materials. One of the most beauti- 
ful window i)i<tures that has appeared was the work 
ol" the rhiladelphia artist to whom 1 have already re- 
ferred. Fioni a mass of linen and silk handkerchiefs 
he wove a •■ tlowery tale;" for there arose in his win- 
ilow. as irity magic, two green plants. On oni' side was 
the •• wiiile-pliinied"' lily, tall and slim; on the otluM- 
the -untlower. with >hining 3'ellow petals. One might 
ha\f thtuigjii the fairies had been there. Certain scenes 
are naiuially appr'»priate<l to certain seasons. At Easter 
time, when liie world and his wife go to church in new 
spring snil-. ami w hm the Ixm rirant begins to (Ireani of 
spring chicken •»!• duck> and gi"een i)eas. the windows 
swarm with yonnu chickens and niatronl}- hens, and 
rat)hits and guinea lowls. and all barnyard creatures that 
the country child ignores and tlu' city child loves. A 
little later, when ihc yearly exodus is altout to begin, 
lilipulian figui-c-. nattily dressed, engage in endless 
games of temii^ or crtxiucl. The windows assume a I'e — 
tive air which sjieaks of holidays and golden al'ternoons, 
but, above all, indicates the emptiness and dullness of 




EMBRYO BRIC-A-BRAC SHOP. 



SHOP ^yIXD0^Y8. 247 



the " greiie sliawe," unless the idler there be equipped 
with bow and arrow, as Kobiu Hood was of old, with a 
tennis court, and with that mildest of all mild sports, 
croquet. 

In shops in Avhich a professional decorator is no't en- 
gaged the windows are arranged by one of the clerks. 
Among a large number of employes, there are a few 
who will show a finer sense of color and a more natural 
mstinct to good design than the man}-. One difficulty 
is to discover the right person, whose candle is likely 
enough to be hidden under a bushel. In a very well- 
known bookstore in Philadelphia, one clerk after an- 
other was intrusted with the charge of the windows. 
Each did his best, but his work could not be pronounced 
a success. Finally there appeared the one who had 
long been \vanted. He stepped into the window and 
piled up in tempting rows, as if to the manner born, the 
newest and the oldest editions, and he threw carelessly 
forward the latest thing in the way of travels and the 
freshest in esthetic illustration. This he did as if he 
were thinking of nothing less than of the approbation 
of the public. Yet his taste was so unerring that his 
window was attractive to all classes of men, from those 
who love the graceful curves and strange unearthliness 
of Blake's pictures or an edition Oe hixe of Shakspeare, 
to those who like to laugh with Tom Jones or even 
with Mother Goose. Quite an education could be ac- 
quired if we studied these windows as Robert Houdin 
did those of Paris. Other shops sometimes seem to aim 



248 



A STLVAX CITY. 




THE OLD 



at odur'atinij; the pcojjlc ; for ifa tradesman liai^^a special 
stock of u'oods to which he wishes (o call attention, he 
acconipHshes this hy practical ilhislration of how the 
articU's in (piestion are made, and his window becomes 
tor (lie time llic workshop of a wood-carver, a silk- 
wcavcr. or a Ldass-cuuraver. as the case maybe. The 
main (»hjrct. however, heiug not to spread knowledije, 
lull to cliaiin. ensnare and exhaust financially man- 
kind at lari^e. it" tliis can he accompli>hed by group- 



snap wixDows. 



249 



iiig together incongruous elements, incongruity is never 
o])jected to. Those tradesmen who cater to vulgar 
tastes, do all thev can to satisf}^ the curiosity whicli 
revels in the ahnormal. A keeper of a down-town 
restaurant once placed in his window a malformed 
pig preserved in alcohol and surrounded it with fresh 




AND THE NEW. 



250 A SYLVAN CITY. 



vegetables and fruits. He argued probably tbat this 
uni)leiisant ol)ject would onl}^ excite a keen appetite 
tor hcaltlilcr wares. Another, by means of his win- 
dow, announced to the pul)lic that those who stepped 
within could have a good dinner and at the same 
lime feast their eyes ui)on Jesse .Tames' bowie-knife. 
Nor do these exhibitors miscalculate the value of their 
curiosities upon certain minds, for, to many men, tht- 
weai)on of the AVeslern rullian or a deformed l)east is 
a sweeter sight than a l)eautiful picture. The enter- 
prising shopman also makes use of that strong in- 
stinct of low natures to laugh at whatever is great 
or beyond their comprehension. Shortly alter Dar- 
win's death a tradesman hung in his window an oil 
painting representing two monkeys, underneath which 
was a card with these words written on it: " Dar- 
win's Adam and Eve. All three dead !" As a writer 
in tile S<(tur<lnii Berieir said lately, the popular concep- 
tion of tlu' Darwinian theory is something like a line 
with a man at one end and a monkey at the other. It 
was to suit this jjopular conception that the picture 
was addressed. 

There are still other tradesmen who, in their method 
of decoration, ajipear to follow traditional or trade rules. 
The t«»hacconist always adheres to red and yellow trim- 
mings lor the wood-woik (jf his windows, and the only 
suggestion> of ornament in his displa}' of cigars and 
cigarettes are advertising cards piaising the merits of 
certain lirands and pictures of popular actors and ac- 



SnOP WINDOWS. 



251 



tresses. The same uiiiforinity is seen in chemists' win- 
dows, where the hirge colored bottles are as inevitable 
as the three balls of the pawnbroker and the striped pole 
of the barber. It is not generally known, by the way, 




" FIVE cents' WOKTH OF BRAID, MA'am ? YES, MA'AM 
WITH PLEASURE, MA'am," 



that these bottles are a legacy from the old alchemists. 
In many shops they are still of the primitive colors — 
red, l3lue, white and some very dark color, being intended 
to represent the four elements, fire, water, air and 



253 A SYLVAN CTT7. 



earth, on which Chemistry was originally supposed to 
l)e based. The shops of the importing coffee and tea 
companies arc the most conspicuous of this class. 
Tlieir walls are lined with Chinese pictures in the 
popular parasol and fan style. Sea views and city 
views, palaces and pagodas, ladies with small feet and 
gentlemen with flowing garments, all painted in the 
most vivid colors, give the shop an oriental character, 
inlfudcd perhaps to lend additional flavor to the tea. 
In some of these tea shops on South Second Street por- 
traits are added to the wall-paper pictures, so that it has 
Ihc ;ii>p('arance of a gallery. One portrait reposes on the 
floor directly in front of the door and is really a particu- 
larly flne piece of bait. It represents a middle-aged Chi- 
nese, and some marks, which look like sword thrusts 
through the canvas, heighten the interest it arouses in 
the passer-by. Who the suliject is, the owner of the pic- 
ture cannot tell, but he ileclares it to be the work of 
"Sanguinetti," and a name, written in one corner of 
the picture, conlirms his statement ; while the sword 
thrusts, if such they really are, go far toward cimflrm- 
ing the sus})iei(»n of some possil)le tragedy. 

Aristocrats among business men are susceptilde as to 
their windows. Tln-y wish to ai)pear superior to dis- 
play. They are tlu- ditc of confectioners, who place a 
single cake in the window, or, in extreme cases, only a 
cake dish, that the beholder may, as c.c jicOc IlcrcHlem^ 
divine Iroiii thi> very slighl indicalion that something 
very superior is t(» l)e had within. Thi> may recall to 



SHOP WINDOWS. 



253 



i^ome readers the story of Mr. Tetchy, a London print- 
seller, famous for excessive sensitiveness and great pride. 
As he grew richer and dealt in nobler wares, little by 
little all the pictures disappeared from his windows, 
until there remained only one exquisite Rembrandt 




SHUTTING UP. 



proof, with the inscription, ^'Mr. Tetchy 's Gallery," 
in antique Roman. 

In striking antithesis to the aristocratic windows are 
the purely democratic varieties to be found on South, 
Second and Bainbridge Streets, where the very choicest 
articles are brought well forward. In these neighl)or- 



254 A SYLVAN CITY. 

hoods competition is strong, and succoss comes to him 
who can make the largest parade of goods. The efibrts 
to he the sueeessful competitor have resulted in the shop- 
man's tilling his windows until they have overflowed to 
the i)avement, thus in>tituting a new manner of shop 
decoration. In one walk on any of these thoroughfares 
clothes and shoes are to l)e seen, forming (jmves, as Dick- 
ens says, and ornamenting the sidewalks in numbers 
sutticient, one would say, to clothe the entire local popu- 
lation. Quantity and cheapness are of more importance 
than ([uality, and only occasionally is there an aiming at 
effect . 1 remember passing an old clothes shop in front 
of whicii was an array of cast-off dresses of every hue 
;iii(l make. Among tht-m, din-clly in the sunlight, was 
a faded i)ur[)l(' silk, whose former owner, to Judge from 
its present condition, had clung to it so long as it re- 
tained the least claims to decency. It looked very ugly 
and hopeless, and I wondered liiat it had not been con- 
signed to the more friendly sjiade of the shop. A few 
minutes later I repassed it, and behold I over the shabby 
silk attire the shopkeeper had thrown a black lace 
shawl, thereby giving it an air of respectability and even 
of elegance, and iirol)ably insuring the si)eedy sale of 
both articles. The true salesman, he who has the natu- 
ral instinct of his profession, will often succeed in mak- 
ing a custonu'r purchase something which he or she had 
at the first no intention of buying, but this instinct 
carries with it an uueniug power of judi:ini: cliaracter. 
It is uscles> for a l>ungler to trv his hand at it. 13ut 



SHOP WINDOWS. 255 

this instinct is very different from that of an artist in 
windows. 

After studying the influence of shop windows upon 
their owners, an interesting consideration would ])e tlie 
manner in wliich they aftect those who look at and ad- 
mire them. Few people have thought of the matter 
from a philosophical standpoint, but almost every one is 
rich in individual experiences which, beginning with the 
lirst possession of a few cents in childhood, have perhaps 
yet to be completed. There are certain alluring windows, 
whose toys are as irresistible to the 3*oung as the Holy 
Grail was to the Knights of the Round Table, and which 
have been the cause of many a school-boy or school-girl 
being late for school. Before the confectioners' sweets and 
sugar-plums youthful pocket-money has disappeared like 
snow in the sunshine, while artfully draped silks or skill- 
fully arranged antiquities must be held responsible for 
many extravagances of later and wiser years. 

" For every life is like a shop without, 
Which indicates the means of wealth within, 
And all the workings of the ruling- mind ; 
For, as the face sets forth the hidden soul, 
So do the merchant's windows, full of wares, 
Tell of the man himself. If he be mean, 
There is a meanness in his garniture 
Shown, though he know it not, while the great heart, 
Without ostent, makes ever generous show." 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS, 



The seed-leaves of our school system may be said to 
have sprouted in 1683, when, in fultillment of a provi- 
sion of the '"Great Law," enacted by authority of Wil- 
liam Penn, it was declared that " schools shall be estab- 
lished for the tuition of the young." The first in our 
city was started by Enoch Flowers, and a small sum 
was charged for each pupil. In 1698 the Quakers opened 
another, for "all the children and servants, male and 
female" — the rich at reasonable rates, the poor for 
nothing. Later, a company of German philanthropists, 
sustained by contributions from religious societies in 
Europe, began to open free schools in Pennsylvania. In 
1756 these were well established. In 1790 a provision 
of the Constitution secured the founding of schools 
throughout the State, in which the poor could be taught 
gratis. During all this period, however, the benevo- 
lent but mistaken distinction made between rich and 
poor seemed to turn the public sentiment against them ; 
they were called "pauper schools," and were despised 
by the one class and shunned by the other. In 1827 a 
society was formed in Philadelphia for the Promotion 
of Education in the Sttite, a committee opened corres- 
pondence with leading educators in other countries, antl 
* Sec Introduction. 
257 



258 .1 SYLVAN CITY. 

tlu'ir eftbrts finally culminated, in 1834, in the enact- 

niciit of a law which .*<ecured free edut-ation to all. 

This, then, was the besiiuninix tor us, not of the 
I'uhlie, but of the Common School. Still, the plant 
was so weakly, and adverse winds so strong, that its 
c<mtlnue(l life was by no means certain. The very next 
year a powerful etlbrt was made to uproot it ; and then 
sturdy Thaddeus Stevens strode to its rescue, and with 
the aid of the then Governor AVolf, who engaged if 
necessary to use his veto power in its behalf, the storm 
was weathered, and the free school for all became, so 
to speak, indigenous. 

A system of education not yet fifty years old is still 
scarce beyond its plumules : in view of this we have a 
righl to consider it a remarkably line sjx'cinien. In any 
other case we should hesitate, as yet, to i)lace it on ex- 
hibition, excei)t to urge its need of better facilities for 
growlli. wliicli is the purpose of this article. 

Kducation, in a free country, is not a i)rivilege, but a 
righl, and every citizen has a right to the best. If he 
susjH'ct that he is being served with a low-grade article 
it is his business to investigate. If it come to the know- 
ledge of a Philadeliihian that the boards of education in 
other districts employ a jiaid sui)erinten<lent, he ought 
to ask why his own city has no such ollicer. If he hear 
that certain method-, unknown to his own youth, teach 
(hildren t(» read witiiout tears, he should say to the 
hoard : '• I''.\Miniuc into those methods, and if good, 
inipt»il ih'UK" It' a runioi- reach liini that the authori- 




LUNCH HOUR AT PHILADELPHIA HIGH SCHOOL. 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 261 

ties of Brussels, by faithful care of the school chiklreu, 
have notably improved the health statistics of that 
city, he should say : '' Take heed to the health of my 
children; that is one of your first duties." In short, 
he should first learn to realize the need of, and then to 
demand the following essentials to education, in almost 
every item of which Philadelphia is now Ijeliind the 
leading cities of the Union : Organized management ; 
industrial education ; more school houses ; better scliool 
houses ; better teaching ; better school directors. 

I. Organized management of the schooU by profe.^i^ional 
paid superintendents. On this point we quote from the 
urgent appeal of the President of the Board of Educa- 
tion. "The absence of superintendence in our schools 
is an anomaly ; there is no knowledge possessed, by any 
central power, of the character, condition and needs of 
the schools of this district ; nowhere else is it attempted 
to conduct a school district of half the proportions of 
this without the constant supervision of trained spe- 
cialists in education. . . . When there were but few 
schools — and that is for in the past — they could under- 
stand each other's wants and plans, and conform to 
them ; but this is now impossible." 

Thirty-one ])oards of direction, with thirty-one theo- 
ries of managing their business aftairs and instructing 
their employes ! Imagine the Pennsylvania Bailroad 
conducting its operations on this principle. And yet the 
pubhc schools are of more value than many railroads. 

II. Industrial education. This is a demand so fresh 



2ry2 A SYLVAN CITY. 

that we have .scarcely begun to realize its deep signili- 
cance ; we feel that something is WTong ; we know thai 
man cannot live by text-book education alone, and we 
see not where he is to learn the art or trade by which he 
must earn his l)read. Time was when the lad who had 
mastered his three ll's could go right into the shop, and 
into the liimily, of the master mechanic w^hose trade he 
chose, and rise step by step to a knowledge of his busi- 
ness. 

Xow all this is changed. Our trades-unions dictate 
the number of apprentices to be allowed in any one es- 
labli>luiu'nt, and the rest are helpless. And as the 
times change we must change, or sutler disaster. The 
two-inch pot which successfully developed the acorn 
will soon begin to cramp the growing oak. The 
time seems to have come for this country when men 
and women must l)e prepared for their life-work by 
the i)ublic schools or not at all. In this day the youth 
of uvtrage abililies, turned out to earn his living with 
only the old-lii>liioned school eciuipment, has not been 
ticalcd jioliy. He has received his little quota of text- 
Intok Ihcls and rules, which hi' will soon forget, becau>e 
!ie has never been taught to associate them with i)racli- 
cal, every -day doings. He knows that 'MO degrees make 
a great circle; but what a degree is for. and what earth 
or heaven wants of a great circle, or how many feet 
high is a given fence or house, he has never been taught 
to consider. He knows that '* a ])rime number is one 
which has no integral factors "" Inil it doesn't seem to 



S^'^k ^^^^ 








^ 



THE GIRLS' NORMAL SCHOOL 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 



266 



help liim a bit in making chanoe at the counter. He has 
no notion of the properties of connnon things ; he has 
liad no practice in contrivance ; he cannot use his own 
body to best advantage ; lie cannot handle tools ; he not 
only has no handicraft, but knows not how to pick up 
one ; and his lack of the mental alertness which a proper 
training of his senses and perceptions could have given, 




DRAWING IX THE GIRLS' NORMAL SCHOOL. 



266 A SYLVAN CITY. 



will make him a Ihilurc, if ho hire liimsolt'oiit as crraiid- 
iM.y. 

Xcvcrlhclcss, hi' marrit's a girl who can iicilhcr sew, 
nor c-ook, nor wash, nor set a table well enongh to make 
hei- livinii- should the necessity arise. How should she 'f 
Wlii'i'c are these thiniis systematically taught V At 
home she provides wastefuUy ; she has never been told 
what kinds of food are chea]) and what dear at a given 
price. She l)reaks down the health of herself and her 
family by violating every known law of hygiene, l)ecause 
to her they arc unknown : sickness disheartens them ; 
faihu'cs undermine ihcii- andiition. Then they sit down 
and wail for lu-lp from public funds or private chai'ity. 
and soon they get used to being helped, and self-respect 
is lost, and the comnumity pays their board until they 
die. Who is to blame V The State is to l)lame, when it 
opens its school-room doors and sets loose its youth ujxtn 
the world as Alva used to set loose his prisoners of war, 
liist taking oil" their arms at the shoulders, and then 
allowing them to live If they could. 

No man has a right to say '' the world owes me a liv- 
iuL',"" but every child may say '•the world owes me the 
knowledge of a craft by which I may earn my living." 
The sort of education which the State owes to each of its 
meml)ei- would not only ti-ain that averag*' mind to it< 
highe>t general c;ipacity. but would lind out the sort ot 
practical faculty most ])ronouuced in each pupil, and 
train that to the best tulvantagc. It would teach the 
Use <»f all ordinary tools; it would teach the principles 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 



267 



of mechanics, and drawing as applied to mechanics ; 
and, hy degrees, it would establish actual trades. It 
would divert, if need be, fully one-half the pupil's time 
from school-room to work-room; and then we should 
discover that three hours a day rightly spent in mental 
etlbrt gives al)out all the mental result of which a i)upil 




LNIVEKSITY OF PEN NSYLVA MA— OKK.IN AL BUILDING 



is capable, and that a change to the exercise of another 
set of faculties is so much clear gain. And seeing that 
a large proportion of the girls of our public schools are 
oljliged to earn their own bread, it should by no means 
exclude them from the advantage of the work-rooms. 
There are many occupations now tbllowed by women, 
of which the rudiments at least can be taught in the 



A STL VAX CITY. 



school. Moreover, in wonuurs universally-approved 
vocation of providing for the wants <>f man. why 
should not cooking he made, at one stroke, respeetahle, 
hy associating it with chemistry, and constituting it a 
science ? 

Not all the moral paragraphs ever composed on the 
Dignity of Lahor will do so much to make labor 
lionored as the one fact that it has a place in our 
general system of education, and n\usi l)e studied hy 
intellectual methods. Cooking is more important even 
than sewing. Why should it not be taught in every 
public school V 

The idea of industrial education can no longer he 
smiled down as visi(uu\ry. J.ondoii spends $oOO,(H)0 on 
it annually, and there is scarcely a town or city in 
Europe that has not its industrial school. The St. 
Tetersburg Institute of Technology displayed at our 
Centennial Exposition a set of models, showing every 
stage of manipulation in iron and wood, fn^ni the crude 
material to the manufactured article. Philadelphians 
noticed these, and thought them very pretty; Bost(mi- 
ans noticed, pondered, went home and erected Iniildings, 
and now teach, beside the higher princii)les. in their 
School of Technology '' the elementary l)ranches of most 
of (be trades, as moulding, turning, weaving, carpenter- 
ing, smithery and the rest. The students dividi' their 
time between tlu'se and their books." Is there any- 
thing in IMiiladeli)hiaV climate to prevent her doing the 



same r 



^-=^ - * 




FIREPLACE I 



N THE MUSEUM-OLD GERMANTOWN ACADEMY. 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 271 

III. J/ore school houses. It is rather startling to 
those who believe that free institutions depend for their 
life upon free education ta tind that '' while the city's 
population increases at the rule of aljout 25,000 annu- 
ally, the appropriation for school buildings was last 
increased at the rate of acconuiiodation for 448."" But 
all this is to be changed, as Councils have given at one 
sweep $300,000 for the erection of new and the repair of 
old Ijuildings. This is inspiring, and the only suggestion 
we presume to make is that there may be, in every 
class-room of every new building, efficient provision for 
the escape of foul and the entrance of fresh air. This 
is, of all architectural problems, perhaps the most difti- 
cult ; but its importance is so great that if good venti- 
lation is to be found anywhere in the world it should be 
found here. We had better starve a child's brain than 
taint its blood. That there is need of such a sugges- 
tion is shown by the testimony of one lady whose daugh- 
ter attended a handsome new school in the upper part 
of the city : 

"She had been a healthy child before going there, but 
she soon began to have headaches, which grew so frequent 
that I went to the school to see if the cause might be there. 
I found that the ventilators amounted, as usual, to nothing, 
and that the times when a window was lowered were rare 
exceptions. 'You see,' explained the teacher, 'if the win- 
dow is open we have to use more heat, and then the prin- 
cipal up stairs sends down to us to shut it, as we are 
cooling his rooms.' And in this school, for reasons best 
known to teachers or directors, the requirements regard- 
ing exercise were ignored. There was no recess whatever, 



272 .1 SYLVAX CITY. 

even wlien, as in bad weather, the session was four hours 
long. And tlie girls sat in that poison through those truly 
mortal hours with scarce a change of position, not even, 
as pleaded foj', live minutes to march round the room and 
sit down again." 

Tills careful niolhcr, failing in her appeal for humane 
treatment in the school-room, wisely withdrew her child, 
to lose her education if so she must, but at least to save 
her health. 

V. Better teachincj. There are in our schools many 
teachers whose intelligent devotion to their work cannot 
be repaid ])y either money or praise ; women who not 
only api)reciate the improvements introduced l)y the 
Hoard of Education, but carry them out in spite of 
great disadvantages. There are schools, for instance, 
where (lie lessons of the morning are habitually ex- 
jtlained the preceding afternoon. There is at least one 
school whose lowest division, as most needing intelli- 
gence and exi)erience, is taken in charge by the high- 
est teacher. AVe all know women whose best life and 
thought and whose best years of life are put into the 
school-room. 

l^)r the other sort, only one who has been a teacher 
can Justly criticise their shortcomings ; only she knows, 
for instance, how difficult it is to give individual atten- 
tion to so large a nund>er; only she knows how much of 
the time which should be employed in actual teaching is 
wasted in the mere ellort to keep order. AVith fifteen or 
twenty children in one room, and a teacher wh.o knows 
how to keep her \m\n\s at work, almost the whole time 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 



273 



might be given to teaching ; with twice or thrice that 
number, to insure the quiet essential to class work a 
discipline must be maintained so unnatural, so irksome 
to a healthy child, so almost brutal in its exactions, as 
to irritate and demoralize the pupils, to weary and un- 
nerve the teacher, and to abstract an immense propor- 




~v v^> 











l.'n.-M 



>r^^ir% 







^>s,-. 



UNION SCHOOL AT KINGSESSING, 1778. 

tion of time from the true object of the school. When 
Mr. Parker, Superintendent of the Boston Schools, was 
urging upon our teachers more individual interest in 
their pupils, one of them asked : '^ What would you do 
in my place with a division of seventy ?" To which he 
could only reply, " I should pray for Philadelphia." 
Still the fact remains that we employ many teachers 



274 A SYLVAN CITY. 



who ought not to bo trusted with the care of any 
mul lid's chihhH'U. It is sonR'tinii's supposed, by dircc- 
toi> and ollurs, that the objeei of the pubHc schools 
is to create ixenteel positions for interesting young 
w(.mtn. but tliis is far from the trutli. The schools are 
imanl for (he chiith-cn, and for them only ; and if any 
il(l)arhiRnt sulll-rs from incompetent teachers it should 
he rc-oHiccrc*!, even to the point, if our supply of "na- 
ti\r talent'' fall short, of seeking for help in places 
where teaching has longer been taught. 

Moreover, the })resent method of examinations, which 
<leinands m) much memorizing, is unfavorable to the 
br(»ader sort of instruction. If education meant simply 
the tixiug of certain facts and defmitions in the youth- 
ful mind, it would not be so nuich amiss; but if, as 
many begin to suspect, it should mean instead the real 
awakening of that mind and the strengthening of its 
own capacities for acquirement ; if it is the larger part 
of our l)usiness to make the pupil want to learn, and 
know how to learn ; then what a ditterent system must 
wc employ, then what a world of explanations, of de- 
vices to make the unaccustomed subject clear to the 
tender brain, of })ictures, of anecdotes, of experiments, 
of free (piestion and ex])ression of views from the pu- 
pil ; then his text-book detinition would be simply the 
starting point for the real lesson, and for the class-room 
w(»rk Dial would grow out of it. Then every such point 
wou'd take more time — nnich more time — but once 
learnetl, it would not l)e an isolated formula, inserted in 










PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL ACADEMY, 1790. 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 277 

the brain as by some mischance a l^ullet or needle in the 
body, but it would be as the food we .digest, a part of 
the blood and a source of strength to the frame. 
By the first method the programme is naturally — 
"Class, attention ! The-next-£cOgraphy-lesson-is-from 
-what-does -the - Eastern - Continent - comprise - to- what- 
is-a-promontor3'-page- 13-anybody-that- misses-two -will- 
be-kept-in-till-he-knows-it. Else ! Pass !" 

By the other method the teacher would have her 
blackboard read}" before the memorizing of the lesson, for 
the children to draw a promontory, a bay, &c. She 
would provide a vessel of water, and set therein a pretty, 
tinted papier mache island, all indented with sloping 
shores and dotted with trees and marked with pictured 
streams. She would have her waiter of soft clay, out of 
which they could shape a continent, and make hollows 
for lakes, and pinch up the mountains to their relative 
heights ; and when the}^ had with their own little fingers 
created the Isthmus of Darien, there would be small 
risk of being " kept in " for the text-book definition. Or 
if it were a lesson in weights and measures, she would 
turn that purgatory into a land of comparative pleasance 
by letting them stand behind a counter, and illustrate 
with real scales, and something real to weigh, the dif- 
ference between Troy and Avoirdupois. In the graded 
course of instruction, nominally now in eftect, are con- 
stantly recurring such provisions as the following : '' Ex- 
planation of meaning and use of words, correction of 
common errors of speech, location of prominent places 



278 A SYLVAN CITY. 



in the cit}', fiimiliur talks al)out the cit}', object lessons, 
faniiHar talks about the senses, talks about conduct and 
personal habits, systematic i)hysical exercise at end of 
ever}' hour." 

Are these points, all-essential, ol)served by the teach- 
ers ? How many directors insist upon their observance ? 
How many parents go to see for themselves ? One of 
the few reports to this effect : "Connected with our 
Normal School is a School of Practice, in which all 
the newer and l)etter methods of the day are supposed 
to l)e taught ; but these newer ways very st-ldom get 
into the class-room ; tlu' young teacher goes from her 
l)ractice to her school, and settles down to the dreary 
grind of memorizing which was discarded in New Eng- 
land thiily years ago."" The grand i)rinciple seems 
to be that one i)rocess of driving individual nails into 
that one faculty — the memory ; the best teacher is she 
who can drive the largest number (to hold) in a given 
time ; the l)est examiner is he whose claw-hannner ques- 
tions elicit the largest num))er of these with the fewest 
confusing appeals to the general understanding. 

And supposing that we had two thousand teacher>, 
all abU' and willing to teach in the other fashion, they 
have positively not the time to do it. One excellent 
teacher said to a visitor : '' T am con>tantly tempted, 
in my class-room, to deviate from the text-book and talk 
(ihout the lesson, but T have to resist this, or I should 
fall behind at examination." Another confessed : "It 
tlid mortify me, at the last examination, to tind that in 



II 'llfi 




FIVE MINUTES LATE. 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 281 



answer to a question in etymology, every one in the 
class gave the same sentence as an illustration." 

Yet it is plain that there nuist l)e some accepted test 
for promotions, and that the form of this is a truly ditli- 
cult problem. It can only l)e claimed in this regard, 
that the aim of examiners should he to discover the 
general development of the child's intellect at the seve- 
ral stages of his education, rather than, or at least in 
large addition to, the number of unassociated facts, 
dates and rules which he lias succeeded in memorizing. 
Nor would we underestimate the value of drill, pure 
and simple. Any method of instruction which explains 
so much that the pupil has nothing to do is a vicious 
method ; and any which habituates him to depend for 
his incentive to application wholly on the attractiveness 
of his subject is vicious. lie should be so taught that 
he wants to learn (that is one half), and that he knows 
how to learn (that is the other). And to this end a 
carefully-measured proportion of his mental discipline 
should consist of absolute, patient drudgery, and a 
small proportion of the closest mental concentration. 
lie should have his thinking powers so at his own com- 
mand that he can at any stated time set himself to a 
task and make himself do it. 

The trouble with AUce in Wonderland, when she tried 
to play croquet with the queen, was that nothing was 
sure to stay where it was put. When she had her hedge- 
hog neatly rolled up, and was on the point of making a 
good stroke, it was as likely as not to unroll itself and 



282 A SYLVAN CITY. 



iiiiihlc away ; or, if she did send it right for tlie arcli, the 
arch might Ik*, there, or it might liave straightened iiji 
and sidled oil' lo chat witli its ueighl)or. And so with 
nntrained mental powers. Sometimes they are there and 
sometimes not ; sometimes their owners are capable of 
intense and prolonged application, hut only when they 
are seized from without l^y an idea or a motive which 
possesses and drives them; but in the other case they 
habitually possess and have })()wer to use themselves. 
W»* must admit that even the meni(M-y needs careful cul- 
tivation, but we feel that this faculty, while it may be in 
danger of over-strain, is in no danger of neglect for a 
long tiuKi to come. 

VI. Better direction. In our school-boards there are 
many men, and lately some women, of known ability 
and culture, who devote themselves most earnestly to 
the work for which they have l)ecome responsil)le ; but, 
in association with these, and frustrating their etlbrtsat 
every turn, are men of— let us say of another variety. 
"In certain states of this Union and elsewhere,'' says 
the President of the Board of Education, "thedepait- 
ment of education is, by conunon consent, exempt from 
the use of party leaders and followers, and the interests 
of the schools are consequently safe. " If this has become 
possible in other and in some cases younger states, might 
it not be poNsihie in ours V With a ])roi)er system of 
choosing school directors, such instances as the following 
would be impossible : 



to] 










THIRTY-EIGHTH ST. AND DARBY ROAD, WEST PHILADELPHIA. 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 285 



No. 1. Early morning. Milkman {interrupted in his chat 
with Bridget hij the lady of the house)-- ^loxmiv^, mum. 
Is it that ye 're goiir to fault the milk, mum?" 

Lady.—'' Not at all. I came out to ask your influence 
as school director. I am applying for a situation in your 
ward." 

No. 2. Teacher (in class-room).— ''^ot pyanner, Miss 
Smith ; it is pronounced piano." 

Papil.—'' No, ma'am ; my pop says pyanner every time, 
and he 's a director." 

No. 3. A Teacher, obliged to consult her director in 
sudden emergency, finds inscribed above his portal the 
following quaint sayings : ^ 

"Lively Boys" Retreat." "Fhee Lunch this Day. 
"Pool Played for Drinks." 

On the special fitness of saloon-keepers as guides 
and examples for youth, public opinion speaks clearly 
at every election in the surprising number whom it 
elevates to positions of immense importance in child- 
ish eyes. In regard to the large proportion, not only 
of mechanics who might have the needful education, 
but of common day-laborers— this is a free country, in 
which it is our boast that true merit can rise, irrespec- 
tive of condition, but must it be so utterly irrespective 
of fitness ? Your hod-carrier may be virtuous, though 
illiterate ; he may not use his power to get situations 
for all the females of his tribe who, spite of general un- 
culture, can pass a routine examination ; he may resist 
his opportunities to provide at the same time the coal 
for his school and his foinily ; as a laborer and as a 



286 A STL VAX ('ITV 



citizA'ii he may be an admirable person ; l)ut as a guide 
for teachers, a chooser of text-books, a manager of school 
expenditures, an authority on school methods, an arbi- 
ter of the destinies of education, he is a disgrace. 

To repeat, then, we need to bring our schools to a 
level with those of our si^te:■ cities in these matters. 
Paid superintendence — that would be an economy in 
everv sense : more school-houses — these we are to have : 
industrial training — that has become a necessity : better 
teaching — men and women of education and public 
s})irit as school directors. And for these we need, per- 
haps not more, possibly only a better, use of money. 
How /,s the money used, by the way? In what direc- 
tions liavc wv Ix'cn heretofore extravagant'? Xot yet 
in school-houses, for we i-emembcr that there are still 
many thousands of children without a chance to learn 
to r»'ad ; not in repairs, for. bad as are the forty-live 
rented buildings, we are told that less than the usual 
aiuoimi (»f repairing was done, owing to the lessened 
ai)proj)riation of Councils for the purpose; not in the 
upper dei)artments, for the chairman of the High School 
Committee plaintively remarks: ••Tbe reduced api)ro- 
]>riations have cut down the facilities of the school 
and the pay of the ))rofessors, until serious danger is 
threatened to the institution." And the President 
of the High School reports: "The appropriation for 
apparatus, etc , was unfortunately reduced to a very 
small and Insutricient amount." Not in obeying the 
Scripture injunction n\ regard to good instruction — 



i 7 « 




imJM 







^fr 






PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 289 



"Let her not go, for nhe is thy life"— for wc find that 
"in September, 1880, Prof. Ehhu Thompson, attracted 
by better pay and the prospect of promotion, resigned 
the chair of chemistry in which he had so successfully 
labored four years." And the record of another valued 
laborer, Prof. AVilson, reads: ^-The over-conscientious 
discharge of arduous duties, combined with the anxiety 
caused by the loss of nearly half his salary, had under- 
mined his constitution, and when he relinquished his 
work and applied for medical advice he was already a 
dying man." And it cannot be in the night schools, 
although we might forgive a little lavishness in re- 
sponse to the plea of men and women whose daylight 
hours are spent in toil, and who long so for improvement 
that they are willing to go right from a hard day's work 
to the school-room every night to get it. 

Xo, there was no wild extravagance here. The Board 
of Education decides that in this kind of schooling "a 
continuous term of four months is necessary to produce 
a substantial result.^' The special committee declares 
that this calls for $25,000 ; the City Fathers make an 
appropriation of $7500 ; and the night schools, conse- 
quently, close in just four weeks. That some of 
the pupils at least want more, is shown by the fact 
that a series of evening classes for working women, 
started last fall as an experiment by some Philadel- 
phia ladies, kept in session from October 15 to the 
end of April, giving instruction to over four hundred, 
who appeal most earnestly for resumption next year. 



200 A SYLVAJ^ CITY. 

But there is still another way in which our city author- 
ities may have heen a little reckless. They may have 
read the reports of improvements in teaching in Bos- 
ton, Xew York, St. Louis, San Francisco and elsewhere, 
and hecome annoyed at seeing one ship of education 
at'trr another furl its old canvas, put in all sorts of 
modern appliances, and steam away from our old-fash- 
ioned sailing vessel, leaving her almost out of sight. 
Tliey may have become convinced that the best teaching 
can he done only by the best teachers, and that superior 
ability in this art, as in all others, goes where m(mey 
calls il. We have perhaps l)een spending more than 
we could alford on salaries? 

Well, no ; unless there has lieen a change in the last 
two yeiirs. In the repoil i)receduig the last, the president 
gives the t'ollowiug comparative estimate of salaries: 

Nfw York, iiveragc t<a la ry of teacher, . . . §814 17 
Boston, u ^ u a ... 978 35 

Philadelphia, " " " . . . 4.86 U 

It really does seem, in view of the results, that we 
eidiei- do not devote to school i)ur})Oses a sutticient pro- 
portion of (he money handed in by our citizens, or that it 
is poorly administered. A wise mother, in considering 
the claims df the household, apportions the largest 
means to the [)rofonndest need. If there is not enough 
we ought to ha VI' more, if even we get along with fewer 
civic dinners an<l fewer patriotic occasions, and perhaps 
rather fewer stone dolls on our very stupendous public 
buildiuirs. 




OLD GEK.MAN srilOOL OX CHEKRY STREET. 



PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 29:1 



But if the fault is in unsystematic expenditure, a 
leaf from the story of Mr. C. F. Adams of the expe- 
rience of the Quincy schools may have its suggestions 
for us : 

"As affairs stood it was plain that a great waste of pub- 
lic money was going on ; the statistics did not show that 
the town was spending an undue amount on its schools, 
but of the amount it was spending not tifty cents of each 
dollar were effectively spent. . . This waste could only 
be remedied in one way. . . It was determined to ask the 
town to employ a superintendent of schools, and to \)\\t 
the working out of the system in his hands."" 

The success of this new departure is already widely 
known. Without increasing their school-tax, simply l\v 
organized management, just sucli management as any 
business corporation must use or die, they have so im- 
proved the character of the schools and of the instruc- 
tion that friends of education go there from far and near 
to find out how. How can Philadelphia do it ? First, 
lind a man who has studied education as a science ; pay 
him a salary consistent with his value, and give him 
such paid assistants, the best he can find of either sex, as 
his work demands, thus giving the force of one concerted 
movement to the thirty-one little independent forces now 
each pulling its own way. Xext, organize in like man- 
ner the action of all the divisions in one school, by 
giving to the principal at least a part of his or her time 
from actual teaching for general supervision. Last, but 
not least, insure in each school committee an intelligent 
co-operation with the general plan, by removing the 



294 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



choice of directors from the pot-house to some highei- 
source — by instituting some test, ahnost any test, of lit- 
ness ; then ability to read, if notliing more ; and let us 
stipulate furthermore that no school director shall run 
a "saloon." 




A eKIMAHV SCUOLA.K. 






A MASTER BUILDER 



Aftep. the. first astonished hour in Xantucket, tlie 
stranger who seeks a reason for things as they are, and 
who, if a true American, sees also liowtlie}- should have 
been and plans instinctivel}' for what they had better 
be, pauses, considers the facts, and insensi1)ly becomes 
convinced that, amazing as certain aspects may be, the 
arrangement is reasonal)le ; in fact, the only one admit- 
ting comfortable life. The stranger is intent upon 
meeting the ocean face to face. The townsman has 
other views. To him the sea is good only so far as 
it serves as a storehouse for food or a highway be- 
tween him and prosperity. If this l)e so for tlic men, 
a deeper reason influences their women. Too many 
brave ships have gone down, too many high souls looked 
their last toward home across fierce waves piling up 
and sweeping them into a harbor not laid down on any 
chart, for those who waited at home to plan for any 
constant outlook upon it. 

And so the houses elbow one nuolher. and " the street 
called Straight'"' is not to be found within hev borders, 
lanes and alleys, twisting and winding and ending sud- 
denly against blank walls, in a vain endeavor to escape 
the wind, which " bloweth where it listeth,'' and with 
295 



290 A SYLVAX CITY. 



whifli cvory blade of vegetation on the island wages a 
constaiil slniugU'. Even the harbor has its dangers, 
a bar lies across the entrance, and only skillfnl piloting 
secures safe entry. One marvels at the courage of the 
fn-st settlers, who sought it in despair, and who planted 
there the toleration they had failed to find in the Puritan 
connnunity who had fled from persecution in the old 
country only to inaugurate it on their own account in 
the new. 

Here, in l<'»7r», when the Indian conflict was at its 
height, canic from the island a voice clear and strong, 
as many a voice has since sounded from the same re- 
mote and mist-encircled point. To Peter Folger, sur- 
veyor, schoolmaster, lay preacher to the Indians on 
the island, for whom Thomas Majiiew was doing mis- 
sionary work among the Indians, it seemed evident that 
the war, with every terror it had brought, was simplj'' 
the punishment due every Christian in New England 
for their behavior toward Baptists, Quakers and every 
other sect or person who loved and used free speech. 
To speak at all was dangerous; ])ut Peter Folger had no 
scru[)les. and his denunciation and his plea " streamed 
forth in one long jet of maidy. nngrammatical, valiant 
doggerel — a ballad Just lit to be sung by 'some blind 
crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style,' called, 
'A Looking-(ilass for the Times : or, th(^ Former Spirit 
of New England IJevived in thi> (Miuration.' '' 

There is not even a suggestion of poetry in the entire 
production. Init there is an extraordinarv ^' frankness 



A MASTER nriLVER. 209 



and force." The writer bringf^ to the bjir the then 
"mightiest personages in the land— niini>t('rs and ma- 
gistrates ;" tries and condemns them unshrinkingly, and 
then, determined to bear the full conseciuenees of his 
own fearless testimony, weaves ^' his name and his place 
of abode into the tissue of his verse, thereby notifying 
all who might have any issues to try with him, precisely 
who he was and wdiere he was to be found in case of 

need." 

" I am for peace, and not for war, 
And that 's the reason why 
I write more plain than some men do, 

That use to daub and lie ; 
But I shall cease, and set my name 

To what I here insert ; 
Because to be a libeler 

I hate with all my heart. 
From Sherbon town, where now I dwell, 

My name I do put here ; 
Without offense, your real friend. 
It is Peter Folger." 
Nine sons and daughters came to the sturdy old sur- 
veyor, "strong-brained, free-hearted" and frank, and 
the youngest of these daughters, Abiah Folger, became 
the second wife of Josiah Franklin, adding ten to the 
seven children of the lirst wife, the youngest son being 
destined to speak his mind with all the audacity and 
much more immediate effect than the grandfather's 
words had produced. 

And thus Nantucket has its share in Benjamin 
Franklin, and the old town, with its back to the sea. 
fitly symbolizes the "Poor Richard"" era of his life, 



300 A SYLVAN CITY. 



when expediency was temporaril}' his watchword, and 
the power of the strong, intense and earnest genera- 
tions that had blended forces in the veins of this 
youngest son, was, as yet, undirected and uncompre- 
hended. Utihty, practicality, spare living, much saving 
— all the grind of laborious common life — were in the 
early years. Beyond lay the great sea. Its breatli 
touched his brow as he bent over sordid tasks, and 
even in their midst he stole away to pick up some 
fragments on the shore, barely conscious of a power 
that drew him on and that one day would launch him 
on this ])()undless ocean of knowledge, as bold a voyager 
as ever sailed. 

Xo hfe known to American history is divided into 
such (Hstinct and utterly separate periods ; so set apart 
from one another that three biographies ought really to 
be written, each covering a period not far from thirty 
years. In the first it is a question which one of the 
many tendencies will have its way. The man of science, 
the literary man, are both suggested and both domi- 
nated by the sharp business qualities which later round 
and develoi) int(^ the calm and practical statesmanship 
of his maturer vears. As usual in most stories of notable 
lives, the conflict is a long and unconscious one, but 
there are few men who have left as anii)le material from 
which the inward life may be draAvn. 

The outward story is a familiar one ; almost stale and 
trite. Every child can tell it, and Franklin, as he ap- 
pears walking the streets of lMiila(leli)liia, with a roll 



A MAS TEH BUILDER. 301 

under each arm, becomes as much a part of one's men- 
tal picture gallery as Washington with his hatchet, 
(.'ertainly, there is far more of the picturesque element 
in these early years than fell to the lot of most Xcw 
England children, who, like John AVesley's, "cried softly 
and feared the rod,'' in their bal)yhood, and who walked 
circumspectly in prescribed paths, until the time ap- 
pointed by temperament and destiny for breaking loose. 
Benjamin Franklin recalled, in old age, seeing twelve 
brothers and sisters at his father's table, and both he 
and his best-loved sister, Jane, bore witness to the hap- 
piness of this early home. 

In later life she wrote: "It was, indeed, a lowly 
dwelling we were brought up in, but we were fed plen- 
tifully, made comfortable with fire and clothing, had 
seldom any contention among us ; but all was harmony, 
especially between the heads, and they were universally 
respected." 

The children were welcome and were reared by the 
parents with a cheery fondness, the natural result of 
sound health and of happiness in one another. The lit- 
tle Benjamin's face and form were his mother's, the 
Folger type having been strong enough to perpetuate 
itself even to the present day. From her. too, came the 
keen but quiet humor, the disdain of conventionalities 
and much of the sturdy common sense that remained 
with him through life. The Franklin family, how- 
ever, had traits as strong. Josiah Franklin, though 
living by the labor of his hands to the end, was "hand- 



302 A sylva:^ city. 

some and agreeable, accomplished and Avise. . . He 
drew well, played tlic violin fairly and Ids voice in 
sini^ing was sonorous and pleasing. '■ A brother, Ben- 
jamin, for whom the little Benjamin was named, had 
remained in London, and though suftering both political 
and religious persecution for his opinions, kept up a 
stout and cheerful heart through whatever came, solac- 
ing himself with rhymes as rugged as those in which 
Peter Folg(!r had spoken his mind. Indeed, this rhym- 
ing tendency was part of Franklin's inheritance also, 
and it was encouraged by long poetical epistles from 
Uncle lienjamin. who, delighted with the })romising 
accounts of his namesake, kept up as constant inter- 
course as the time allowed. Franklin did not remember 
when he (■•mid not read, and writing began almost as 
early, and at seven he wrote a rhyming letter, which 
called out a joyous response from Uncle Benjamin, 
more a prophecy than any knew, the verses ending : 

" If first year'.s shoots such noble clusters send, 

What laden Ijoughs, Eugedi-like, may we expect in end '.'' 

The "shoots" were already of such promising char- 
acter that the father decided to devote such gifts to the 
church, and ]>laced Benjamin, when eight years old. at 
the Boston Grammar School, where, in less than a year, 
he rose to tlie head of his class. l>ut to keej) liim there 
proved impossilde with the small means and large fam- 
ily dependent upon him, and at ten the school life ended 
f(n-(ner, and the boy became an assistant in his father"^ 
shop, cutting candle-wicks, fdling candle-moulds, run- 



A MASTER BUILDER. 



303 



niiig errands and attending shop. Franklin records in 
his autobiography the strong disHke he had to the busi- 
ness and his longing to go to sea, such lonuing being 
inevitable in any boy brought up by tln' ^ca, and 
running its course Uke measles and Ihe usual childish 
diseases. To this time belong sundry experiments, in- 
dicating the scientitic bent of his mind ; one or two 
iu^eutions which aided him in swimming, among others 
the kite which drew him across the ]iond. His brother 
Josiah had gone to sea some nine years before, and a 
sister had married the captain of a coasting vessel, both 
of which facts 

i 



were urged as 
reasons why he 
should be allow- 
ed to make at 
least one voyage. 




THE PRTXTIXG PRESS FRANKLIX USED IX T,OXDOX IX 1725. 



304 A SVLVAX CITY. 

In the meantime Uncle Benjamin had, in 1715, come 
from London to spend his last years near his son 
Samuel, and brought Avith him, to his brother Josiah's 
house, his volumes of poetry and such portions of his 
library as remained unsold. His influence was strong 
enough to keep his namesake at home, and it is not pos- 
sible to tell how mui'h we owe to the gentle-natured, 
guileless, quaint-humored old man, the tirst four years 
of whose American life were in constant companionship 
with the boy who looked up to him with admiring fiiith, 
studied his system of short-hand and obeyed his direc- 
tions far more willingly than tliose of others in authorit3% 

The truant sailor came home, and twelve brothers 
and sisters gathered to the feast made for him. Uncle 
Benjamin furnishing a contribution, which is still to be 
seen in one of his vt^lumes of rhyme, where the record 
reads : 

"The Third part of the 107 psalm, Which Follows Next, 
I composed to sing at First meeting with my Nephew .To- 
siah Franklin. But being unaffected with God's Great 
Goodn* In his many preservations and Deliverances 
It was coldly entertained.'' 

We can hardly be surprised at such result, the lirst 
of the eight verses being in this wise : 

** Those Who in Forcitrn Lands converse, 
By Ships lor Tralliek and Comnu'ree, 
Bchohl great Wonders in the Deep, 
Whieh God's prcserihcd bounds doe keep." 

The unappreciated })oet bore no malice, but continued 
such compositions, sometimes varying the monotonv bv 



A JfASTER BUILDER. 305 

giving them curious shapes upon the page, expanding 
or dwindUng as his fancy dictated, till 1727, when he 
died, at the age of seventy -seven, the last years of his 
life having been spent with his own son, though till the 
last he retained his admiration for the namesake who 
Avas at that time established in Philadelphia. Pre- 
viously to this there had been many speculations be- 
fore any settled career could be determined upon. Up 
to eleven years old he remained his father's assistant, 
l)ut the heartily-disliked duties cannot have weighed 
heavily upon him, as he found time for the devouring of 
many books, and was also a leader in every sport open 
to the l3oy of that da}', including much entirely original 
mischief. The boyhood must have been a happy one, 
for as long as Franklin lived his heart yearned toward 
Boston, and at eighty-two years old he spoke of it to 
John Lathrop as "that beloved place." And we may 
be sure that every event in the Boston of that day, from 
the hanging of the pirates in 1716 to the keeping of the 
Puritan Fast and Thanksgiving, as well as the King's 
birthday, Guy Fawkes' Day and the two great fairs held 
each year, was not only remembered but considered by 
this wide-eyed and questioning boy, who left no nook 
of the crooked town unexplored. 

In the meantime James Franklin, who had learned 
the trade of a printer in London, had returned to Bos- 
ton with types and a press of his own, and it was set- 
tled that as Benjamin's strongest love was for books, 
that printing was his natural vocation. His father, with 



306 A SYLVAN CITY. 



H judj^ment not common to the fathers of that or any 
lii'iiod, had visited with him tlie w()rk>h()ps of carpen- 
ters, hraziers, turners and other craftsmen, watching to 
see in what the lad would take the most interest, though 
with no result beyond a certain insigiit into various 
trades that was of great use when he came to experi- 
uieiits in natural science. 

1 'or this particular brother the boy had small alVec- 
lioii, and dreaded the long apprenticeship. " In a little 
tinie," lu' writes in the famous autobiography, "I made 
ureal proliciency in the business, and became a useful 
liand l«> my In'other. I now had access to better books. 
An ac(]naintance with the apprentices of booksellers en- 
abled me sometimes to l)orrow a small one, which 1 was 
careful to return soon and clean. Often 1 sat up in my 
room reading the greatest part of the night, when the 
book was boi-rowed in the evening and returned early in 
the morning, lest it should be missed or wanted." 

'' Better books !" Year after year the story was the 
same, the boy stretching out always for something bet- 
ter than he had known. Already a few books had laid 
the foundations of both character and expression, Plu- 
tarch and Bunyan and Defoe having given him that mas- 
tery of clear and vivid statement, " that pure, pithy, racy 
and delight In! diction, which he never lost and which 
makes him still «»ne of the great exemplars uf modern 
lOnglish prose." 

An even stronger intluenee laid the foundation of 
nuuh of the good work done in later life. Cotton 




ELECTRICAL MACHINE. 



A MASTER BUILDER. 309 



Mather is best known io us as the hanii'er of wilelies, 
and we are apt to juduc him from this sian(li)oint ; yet, 
as Parton puts ii : '■Prol)ahly his zeal ai;aiust the 
witches was as nuich the otispring of his benevoU'nce 
as his 'Essaj's to Do Good.' Concede his theory of 
witches, and it liad Ijeen cruelty to man not to hang 
them." 

Tn any case these essays had a profound influence 
upon Franklin, who, at eighty j-ears old, wrote to a 
friend describing the book as it first came into his hands 
with several leaves torn out, and adding : " But the re- 
mainder gave me such a turn of thinking as to have an 
influence on mj- conduct through life ; for I have always 
set a greater value on the character of a doer of good 
than on any other kind of reputation ; and if I have 
been, as you seem to think, a useful citizen the public 
owe the advantage of it to that book." 

Stilted as are the paragraphs which make up the scanty 
pages, they hold " a humor, familiar learning, impetuous 
earnestness and yearning tenderness " hardly to be 
looked for in the work of a man described by another 
critic as '^ a vast literary and religious coxcomb . . . . 
the idol of a distinguished family ; the prodigy both of 
school and of college ; the oracle of a rich parish ; the 
pet and demi-god of an endless series of sewing s(v 
cieties. ■■' 

Be this as it may, he had power to influence the boy 
in other ways as well. For Cotton Mather was '-the 
originator of a kind of Xeigh])orhood Benellt Societies, 



310 A SYLVAJ!^ CITY. 



oiw of whieli he endeavored to form in each ehurch, and 
to twenty of which" lie himself l)elonged, and tlie 
''Points of Consideration" for whieh, takin*!; tlie form 
of ten elaborate and comprehensive qnestions, were evi- 
dently the origin of the "Jnnto," tlie famons club 
founded by Franklin in 1730, a full history of which is 
given in the article in the present series on the Phila- 
delphia Library. 

Franklin's tendency to verse found expression in vari- 
ous doggerel ballads, then one of the most popular forms 
of literature, and hawked about both in town and coun- 
try. Two of them became at once very i)Opular, and the 
young author was so putled up by his success that his 
father "came to the rescue of his good sense, i)ointed out 
the faults of the performance," and thus saved us from 
a <lehige of inferior verse, which Franklin could never 
(piite decide to let alone, ]5ul his father's inrtuence was 
strong enough to increase the l)oy's desire for a clear and 
elegant prose style, and opportunity for practice came in 
the theological and other arguments with John Collins, 
a boy of almost equal fondness for books, and of an ar- 
gumentative turn of mind. At this period Franklin was 
passing through the disputatious stage common to most 
keen-witted boys — a tendency he outgrew and finally dis- 
liked ; but his pen then, as in later years, was more easily 
connnanded than his tongue, for Franklin was never a 
fluent talker, though when warmed and excited by con- 
versation, his rather slow words were often brilliant 
and always to the point. Collins' style was far better 



A MA ST Hit nriLDER. 



311 




franklin's court sword, 

with inscription 

on the blade. 

labyrinth of questions. He 
which remained with him 
power of a quiet courtesy, and 
be gained by simpl}' refraining 
or alarming the self-love of an 

The works of Shaftesbury and 
this period into his hands, and the 



than that of his antagonist, 
and alter various letters had 
passed, the fiither, secretl}^ 
proud of Benjamin's mastery 
directions, pointed 
tills out, and urged more care 
and attention. A volume of 
the Spectator at this time fell 
in his way, and he read and 
re-read it with delight, taking 
the flowing periods as his 
model, and endeavoring to re- 
produce the whole as exactly 
as possible from memory. 
The -'Memorabilia of So- 
crates" he studied with 
the same intensity, adopt- 
ing the Soeratic method 
of arguing and discon- 
certing and tangling 
his opponent in a 
learned then a lesson 
through life — the 
the victory often to 
from " wounding 
opponent." 
Collins fell at 
^ liberal ten- 



dency of his life was already sufficiently marked to make 



313 A STLVAJY CITY. 



him si'ize upon tlu'iii with avidity, and, for a year or so, 
to convince him that Deism was the only rational form 
of faith. As in his earl}- boyhood, he used a part of 
the night for study, and gained also a large part of the 
noon-hour, from the ftict that, with his other theories, 
he had adopted vegetarianism. In spite of his generous 
and well-developed physique, and the ardent tempera- 
ment with which one generall}^ associates a love for the 
pleasures of the table, Franklin was always exceedingly 
abstinent, and at this time absolutely indifi'erent in the 
matter of food. 

Precisely who the Graham of that period was we are 
not told, but a small treatise on the advantages of vege- 
tarianism, with various rules for the preparation of such 
food, had fallen in his way, and Franklin proposed to 
his brother that he should give him half the money paid 
for his board and let him board himself. The experi- 
ment was tried. Half of this half, it was proved, could 
be easily saved, and so the fund for precious books be 
increased ; and Franklin, like Shelley in a later genera- 
tion, dined on hasty pudding or rice, or a slice of bread 
and some raisins, and then turned to the books, in 
which he says, " I made the greater progress from that 
greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension 
which usually attend temperance in eating and drink- 
ing." 

]5efore a year's apprenticeship had ended, James 
Franklin became a printer of the fn-st sensational news- 
paper ; sensational, in that it argued the merits of what 



A MASTER BUILDER. 313 



was then the great heterodoxy — inoculation for the 
small-pox. The fury of remonstrance and indignation 
with which this was received can hardly now he under- 
stood, though its story is that of every reform since the 
world began. The first printer of the first American 
newspaper, which appeared at Boston. Thursday, Sep- 
tember S.'ith, 1(>90, had come speedily into collision with 
the ''Lord Brethren,"' then supreme in all matters of 
state or church, and his paper was suppressed at the 
fourth number. Fourteen years later, another took its 
place, leading a troubled and repressed existence. There 
was small encouragement to start another, but in Decem- 
ber, 1719, the attempt was made, James Franklin being 
the printer. Dissensions followed, and the work was sud- 
denly taken from him. Pride and pocket both suffered, 
and James Franklin, who owned a full share of the fam- 
ily energy, in August, 1721, sent out the first number of 
the New England Courant. " Spirited, witty and dar- 
ing," this paper was a break in the conventional jour- 
nalism of the day. Every liberal in Boston ralhed to 
this Hag. The Boston tea-pot was agitated by a tem- 
pest, some suggestions of which reached even the remote 
colony of Pennsylvania, and inoculation was at the 
bottom of it all. 

There is no space in which to tell the story, one of the 
most amusing and suggestive in the early history of the 
Colonies. James Franklin went to prison, and Benja- 
min, in the eyes of the law still an infant, and thus not 
to be judged for his deeds, seized the press-lever exult- 



314 A SYLVAN CITY. 



Iiiijly and spoke his mind with a freodoni very disgust- 
ini;- to the Loi'd Ih-cthi'cn, l)ut chuckled over and ap- 
}>laude(l l)y every Hberal-niinded man in the town. The 
(.'ouncil had banned it, l)ut l)Ouglit the obnoxious sheet 
privately to see what new iniquity might be therein. 
Imprisonment did not subdue the owner, and till 1723 
these troublesome printers afibrded matter of conversa- 
tion for the whole country. But " James did not know 
that he had the most valuable apprentice in the world, 
and the apprentice knew it too well." The elder bro- 
ther was unjust ; the younger one resentful. Quarrel 
after (juarrel left each more embittered, and in spite of a 
conscientious determination to hold to his contract, the 
task at last became too dithcult, and Franklin took the 
step which made him the world's property and not Bos- 
ton's — he ran away. 

Three days' sailing brought him to Xew York, then a 
Dutch town with no room or call for English printers. 
"William Bradford, to whom he applied, recommended 
riiiladelphia as the most likely spot in which to obtain 
employment, and without hesitati(m he took passage 
for Perth Amboy in a crazy old boat, and, after an ex- 
tremely uncomfortable as well as dangerous passage, 
walked the fifty miles from Ferth Amboy to riiiladel- 
phia. 

The world knows by heart every detail of his first 
day there. Kmijloyincnt was at once obtained with a 
new-comer in the town, one Sanuiel Keimer, long-haire«l 
and bearded in an age when close cropping was impera- 



A PIASTER BUILDER. 



315 



tive, and with a turn of mind equally j^trong in oi)pof?i- 
tion to accepted theories. Franklin found lodging in 
the home of the young lady who had looked !>;niilingly 
at the travel-stained and hungry voyager, and a time 
of quiet work and of pleasant life began. Good pay, 
congenial friends and more time for reading and study 
increased his liking for the easy-going city ; and when 
linally his secret was discovered, and he was promised 
full forgiveness and more privileges if he would return 
home, he declared his tixed resolution to remain in 
Philadelphia. 

The letter in which he stated the reasons for his 
course, written with a dispassionateness not to be ex- 
pected, chanced to be seen by Sir William Keith, the 
Governor of Pennsylvania, through whom one of 




MEMENTOES FROM FRANCE. 



316 A STL VAX CfTY. 

F'ranklin's most disastrous yet most fruitful of expe- 
riences was to come; a man whose first craving was pop- 
ularity, and who promised always far in advance of any 
possihility of performance. He urged that Franklin 
should set up for himself in business, having, to the 
profound astonishment not only of Kcimer but the en- 
tire neighborhood, called in person on the young printer, 
and even followed up the suggestion by writing to the 
father. 

Josiah Franklin, pleased as he could not help but be 
at the honor to which the lad had already come, was too 
wary and sagacious a man not to ponder carefully every 
side of the question. The son, meantime, set sail in 
April, 1724, for Boston, and after a dangerous voyage 
of over a fortnight, astonished his relatives by ap- 
pearing among them. Ilandsomeh' dressed, owning 
a watch, and with live i)()unds in silver in his pock- 
ets, he met his brother with an ill-concealed elation, 
which exasperated him lo the highest pitch and com- 
pleted the l)reach already made. The father refused 
positively to set him ui) in business at that time, re- 
garding him as too young, l)ut promised to help if, at 
twenty-one, he had saved enough to i)rove his capa- 
l)ility of taking care of himself; and Franklin returned 
to Philadelphia this time with the blessing and good 
wishes of both i)arents. Collins, his early friend. Joined 
him at Xew York, l)ut unfortunately had fallen into 
intemperate habits, and l)ecame, from that time on, a 
hindrance and perpetual source of mortification. lie 



A MASTER BUILDER. 317 

not only lived at Franklin's expense but continually bor- 
lowed of him, encroaching thus on a small sum collected 
by Franklin for a friend, the lending of which he char- 
acterizes as '' the tirst great error '' of his life. Fortu- 
nately a quarrel followed, in which Collins was solely to 
blame, and the connection was broken, never to be re- 
sumed. 

In the meantime the elder Franklin's letter had been 
received by Sir William Keith, who was not in the least 
disposed to give up his project of establishing his protege 
in life, and who finally agreed to send to England for 
such outfit as was necessary, Franklin having made an 
inventory of every desirable article, the value of which 
was nearly one hundred pounds. Governor Keith, on 
reading it over, suggested that a more profitable bargain 
might be made if the young printer went over and se- 
lected for himself, and, after some discussion, it was 
settled that Franklin should cross in the ship sailing 
regularly between London and Philadelphia. But as 
months would pass before the fixed time of leaving, the 
voyages being made but once a year from each port, 
Franklin resolved to keep the affair entirel}' secret. Had 
he mentioned it, there were many who could have told 
him the Governor's real reputation as a " vain, false, 
gasconading popularity-hunter ;" but even then Frank- 
lin was probably too fascinated by the new friend to 
have listened. Six of the happiest months of his life 
passed in this waiting. lie had then become engaged 
to Deborah Reed, and " youth, hope, prosperity, conge- 



318 A SYLVAJ^ CITY. 



nial friends and reciprocated love coniljined to render 
his working days serene and his hohdays memorably 
happy." 

His si:>ecial intimates at this time were three young 
men of his own rank in life, James Ralph being the one 
whose fortunes most affected those of Franklin. All 
loved books, and were fond of composing poetry after the 
easy model set by Pope, and the story of their friend- 
ship and some of the tricks played upon one another is 
one of the most vivacious pieces of writing in the auto- 
biography. Sir William Keith often invited the young 
printer to his house, and promised him letters to man}' 
influential friends, as weh as a letter of credit to be used 
in Inlying type, paper and press. But whenever Frank- 
lin called for them, another time was fixed, and thus on 
to the very day of sailing, when the Governor sent word 
that he would meet him at Newcastle and make all final 
arrangements. When Newcastle was reached no Gover- 
nor appeared, but as a bag of letters was brought on 
board by his agent, the puzzled Franklin accepted the 
statement that an extraordinary pressure of l)usiness had 
prevented the expected interview, and waited till the 
captain could take time to open the mail-bag for him. 

He was not alone, for James Kali)ii had decided to ac- 
company him, and the two, finding no room in the chief 
cabin, had taken passage in the steerage. At the last 
moment Andrew Ilanullon, a great man in the colony, 
who bad secured part of the cal>iu for himself and son, 
was induced, by the oiler of an enormous fee, to return, 




franklin's music stand— histokical society. 



A MASTER BUILDER. 321 

ill orclor to condiu't an important law case, and with his 
usual good fortun(\ Franklin was invited to take posses- 
sion of the vacated berths, and lived royally all through 
the voyage on the store of provisions Mr. Hamilton had 
had no time to remove. Not until near the end of the 
voyage was there any opportunity of examining the 
mail-bag, and then FrankHn was confounded to find no 
letters for him in person, and only a handful directed in 
his care. When these were delivered, they proved not 
to have been written by Keith at all. Franklin told the 
story to Mr. Denham, an influential friend made on the 
voyage, and then, for the first time, learned the real 
reputation of the rascally Governor. 

With but ten pounds in his pocket, and James Ealph, 
penniless and helpless, quartered upon him, he faced 
the situation with his usual quiet courage, took humble 
lodgings, and at once sought for enqUoyment, easily ob- 
tained, as he was master in his trade. Few men have 
ever lived with whom resentment at such treatment 
would not linger and prompt revenge, but one of Frank- 
lin's loveliest traits was his inability to harbor an in- 
jury and his instant forgiveness of all personal wrongs. 
His comment in the autobiography was written many 
years after Keith had bitterly expiated his many errors, 
but even in the beginning he let the matter drop as one 
in which words could neither help nor hinder, and took 
up a life which, hard as it was. had many compensa- 
tions. There nuist have. been a certain mental discour- 
agement, for duriuii; this vear in London he made little 



322 A SYLVAN CITY. 

crtbrt to save, spending freely of the small portion that 
Kalpirs dependence left him. He frequented the the- 
atre, read with his usual assiduity, paying the keeper of 
a second-hand hook-store a certain sum per year for 
the free use of his hooks, and as he ])ecame more and 
more ahsorhed in both pleasure and study, the image of 
Deborah Reed gradually faded from his mind, and he 
ceased a correspondence which had been at best infre- 
quent and fragmentary. Other complications had arisen 
resulting from his connection with Ralph, but the story 
is too long to find room here. It was a period of spirit- 
ual apathy, almost of recklessness, and the most san- 
guine friend might have doubted if the young printer 
would ever become more than the busy and successful 
man of the world. Xevertheless, the tendency was 
never downward, but always steadily upward, and thus 
when Mr. Denham, the friend made on shipboard, and 
with whom he had kept up an ac([uaintance ever since 
his landing, offered him a clerkship in Philadelphia, he 
aece})ted joyfully. He was tired of London, and dis- 
couraged and dissatisfied with his life there, and when 
the long passage of eighty-two days ended, and he saw 
once more the streets of the sober city, he rejoiced with 
all his heart. The diary kept on this voyage is one of 
the most interesting of his life, not so much from any 
incident therein, as from his close observation of every 
natural tact, and his shrewd and telling conunent upon 
it. "AVe see a strong masculine understanding united 
with sensitive, tender feelings ... a mind alive to 



A MASTER BUILDER. 



Ihe beauties, but also most curious as to the processes 
of nature; and here and there a touch of worldly ^vis- 
dom, indicating a youth destined to win a liberal por- 
tion of what the world hastens to bestow upon those 
who serve it as it wishes to be served." 

One of the first persons encountered on landing was 
Sir William Keith, who had sufficient grace to look 
ashamed, and who passed without speaking. Work 
began at once. Mr. Denham stocked a large store on 
Water street ; Franklin became an inmate of his house, 
and there seemed ever}^ prospect that he would end his 
days as a Philadelphia merchant. But within four 
months from the opening of the store severe i)leuris5' 
attacked both master and clerk. Mr. Denham died, 
and Franklin, when he recovered, found himself once 
more adrift, without employment. He sought at once 
for another clerkship — by no means easy to find — and 
after some days of waiting, accepted unwillingly an 
offer from Keimer, who had now a stationery shop, as 
well as a printing office. Both were in the chaotic state 
which seemed natural to all Keimer's undertakings. 
The five hands were totally unacquainted with the busi- 
ness, and the new foreman was expected to train theii> 
and to superintend every detail of the establishment. 
But Keimer had no intention of retaining such a rival 
longer than was necessary to put the business on a firm 
basis, and, forgetting his usual crafty discretion, took 
advantage of some slight inadvertenc*' on Franklin's 
part to give him tlie quarter's warning stipulated for by 



324 A SYLVAW CITY. 



citlicr side in the niakiiii; of tlu'ir coutract. The justlv- 
iiicciisod tbivinaii luaivhed out of the shop, deteniiiiUMl 
never to return, askinu" Meredith, his chief friend ther(\ 
to bring- to liini in the evenini;- such articles as had been 
left ))ehind, and then went home to rellect upon the 
situation. 

It was not a happ}' one. Four years had passed since 
his tiight from Boston, and their en(Ung found him stiU 
a journevnian printer, in debt, and with very little 
money on hand, lie thought latterly for a time of 
giving up the figiit and returning to his father's house, 
and as he brooded saw only the errors that he had com- 
mitted ; Deborah Heed's pale and troubled face rose be- 
fore him and looked the reproach she had never s})oken. 
Trged by her parents, she had, after long waiting for let- 
ters from Franklin, married a man who proved not only 
Ijrutal but unfaithful, and, after a short and miserable 
married life, had returned to her flither's house and re- 
sumed her maiden name. In later years, Franklin 
wrote in his autobiography : ''I consider my giddiness 
and inconstancy when in London as, in a great degree, 
the cause of her unhappiness ;" and in this present crisis 
he seemed to himself doubly guilty. 

With Meredith's coming and the long talk over ways 
and means, more cheerful thoughts arose. Franklin had 
already been of such service in checking the young man's 
intemperate habits, that the father was ready toadxance 
capital to set them u\) in business, though MereditlTs 
time belonged to Keimer until the spring. A day or 



A MASTER BLTLDhni 



32.' 



two of discussion followed, 
and then Keinier, who had 
come to liis senses — in other 
words, received an order 
which he was powerless to 
fill unless FrankUn would 
aid him — sent a conciliating 
message, and the connection 
was for a time renewed. 
Some paper money was to 
be printed under the super- 
vision of the Legislature 
at Burlington, and here 
the two spent the winter, 
Franklin making many 
friends whom he retained 
through life. The "Junto" 
had been founded directly 
after his return to Philadel- 
phia, and proved of the 
greatest service, not only to 
its founder, but to Phila- 
delphia and the whole 
United States, similar or- 
ganizations V)eing formed 
at many points. During a 
large part of his life Frank- 
lin took the greatest delight 
in this club, and the interest 




CLOCK IX THE PIIIT, 
PHIA LIBKAKY 



326 A SYLVAN CITY. 



was even stronger in the beginning. A manuscript 

hook is still in existence lilled with plans for essays, sug- 
gestions for dehate and replies to questions, and it \va> 
a powerful iutlnence in determining his style, ])oth as 
writer and s})eaker. 

AVith the following spring Franklin entered into part- 
nership with ills friend ^Nferedith, and began the busi- 
ness career which lasted for many successful and 
honorable years. The story of its early days is fdled 
with an intensely powerful inward experience. At fif- 
teen, Frankhn had become a free-thinker, but an ardent 
and sensitive nature is never satisfied with negative be- 
hefs, and having gradually come to the conclusion that 
mere denial held no power to insure a virtuous life, he 
lornudatcd for himself a sinii)le creed, made up of six 
articles : 

'' T. There is one God, the Creator of all things. 
"II. God governs the world by his providence. 
"III. (}od ought to be worshipped. 
"IV. Doing good to men is the service most acceptable 
to God. 

" \'. Man is immortal. 

'* \T. In the future world the disembodied souls of men 
will be dealt with justly." 

The creed ended, he wrote out a liturgy for daily ust\ 
filled with the deepest desires of a noble mind and ot 
})rofoundcst interest to every student of character. The 
little ])ocket i)rayer-l»ook in which the whole is recorded 
is written with a careful eli'gance which witnesses the 
fervent interest he felt. A formal statement is first 



A MASTER BUILDER. 



made, called " First Principles," the more speculative 
portion of which was in time ignored, or rather con- 
densed into the simple form given above. A solemn 
and tender invocation opens the liturgy, and a series of 
petitions follow, as vital and deeply devotional as any- 
thing in the range of genuine religious biography. No 
man, who daily, even in part, lived the life or rose into 
the atmosphere which such thought made natural, 
could fail of attaining in the end precisely the poise and 
calm that make Franklin like no other figure in our 
history. The growth was slow. Now and again came 
terrible lapses, for at twenty-one his illegitimate son 
was born, and the Autobiography records manj^ sudden 
yieldings to temptation. But the sins were those of 
a hot and eager blood — never malicious or base, and 
repented with a genuineness that was at least partial 
atonement. From this date on there is steady progress. 
Marriage and a quiet, happy life began; the "Poor 
Richard" era, in which his business ability brought 
him the long-waited-for success, and in which, though 
often tempted, he steadily put away every temptation 
to petty thought or action. Worldly wisdom was strong 
in him. He knew the weaknesses of men and could 
easily have traded upon them, and his keen humor 
could as easily have degenerated into sarcasm and 
cynicism. But each day was governed by a will steadily 
stronger for good. His hard apprenticeship to life was 
at an end, and before him lay the years each one more 
9*^ more filled with the best life of a good man and 



328 A STLVAX CTTY. 

good citizen, earnest, sincere and true. As printer, 
tlien publisher, he became " chief histructor, stimulator 
and cheerer," first of Pennsylvania, then of all the 
colonies. 

When the colonial epoch ended, his mark as man of 
science was already made, and his name fomous at 
home and al)road. He was fifty-nine years old, and 
thus '' on the verge of old age ; his splendid career as a 
scientific discoverer and as a citizen seemed rounding to 
its full ; yet there then lay outstretched before him— 
though he knew it not — another career of just twenty- 
five years, in which his political services to his country 
and to mankind were to bring him more glory than he' 
had gained from all he had done before."" 

Tagive the further story of Franklin's life in a few 
pages would result in simply a list of dates, each with 
its fact of positive accomplishment. Such story is no 
part of the present article, the aim of which has simply 
been to give the beginnings, the foundation-stones, laid 
one l)y one, slowly and with pain, and with small thought 
what noble and stately edifice would one day rest upon 
them. Even more than to her founder, Philadelphia owes 
to Franklin a debt it can never pay — schools, libraries, 
local im))rovements of every sort being the direct and 
l)ersonal work of tliis untiring and creative mind. Each 
year left him more benignant in look and tone. Nothing 
moved him from the cheerful serenity, the gentle humor 
with which he looked upon life. He endured in later 
years a complication of diseases, which brought the ex- 




).!i^///,[r/^ %/ 



BC\JAMIK) '' ■ ' 
/ ^ And FRANKLIN 
' HE BO R AH j 

1790 



IN THE BURIAL GROUND, FIFTH AND ARCH STREETS. 



A MASTER BUTLDER. 331 



tremity of physical suffering, but courage was strong, 
and he worked on almost to the last. Worn with pain, 
he welcomed the end. His last look was on the pic- 
ture of Christ which had hung for many years near 
his bed, and of which he often said, '* That is the 
picture of one who came into the world to teach meu 
to love one another." The resolute repression of aU 
signs of suflering, every indication of the long conflict, 
passed at once. He hiy smiling in a quiet slumber, 
and the smile lingered when the coffm-lid shut him 
in. His grave is in the heart of the city he loved, and 
even the careless passer-by pauses a moment to read 
the simple legend. 

Another epitaph, written in 1729, in early manhood, 
holds his chief characteristics, his humor, his quiet 
assurance of better things to come, whether for this 
world or the next : 

THE BODY 

OF 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, 

PRINTER 

(like the cover of an old book, 

its contents torn out, 

and stript of its lettering and gilding), 

lies here, food for worms. 

yet the work itself shall not be lost, 

for it will, as he believes, appear once more, 

in a new and more beautiful edition, 

corrected and amended 

BY 
THE AUTHOR. 

These curiously witty yet reverent lines may fitly end 
the sketch of a life too large to be compressed into 



333 A SYLVAN CITY. 

written pages. Wife and cliild lie near him — the little 
son who knew only four years of mortal life, au<l whose 
memory lingered with the father through every ehance 
and change of the half century that divided them. It 
is a simple monument, but his best record is in the 
minds of earnest men for whose livis he laid better 
foundations than without him could have been possible. 



EARLY ABOLITIONISTS. 



No NATION on earth has finite the capacity for 
forgetting injnries that characterizes the American 
people. Where the brooding, sullen Saxon tempera- 
ment is strongest, the clear sky, the swift winds and 
wide horizons of the new home, and the busy life as 
well, have altered hereditary characteristics and the ca- 
pacity for resentment has lessened. Even when most 
deeply stirred the brutal element has, save in the lowest 
class, almost totally disappeared. Persistence to the 
point of doggedness until the end is gained, and then a 
good-humored shaking of hands and a taking for 
granted that all differences are buried and the future to 
hold a common pun^ose and a common progress to the 
same end, characterizes the American of to-day. And 
in the fear that his adversary's feelings may be wounded 
he refuses to preserve records of strife, and almost for- 
gets himself how the quarrel went on or why it began 

at all. 

The capacity for apology increases year by year. In 
the reaction against the hitol(;rance and bigotry of our 
fathers, we forget the sturdy virtues such traits covered 
or represented. Some one has summed up the Ameri- 
can character as a ^' mush of concession, '^ and our treat- 
3iJ3 



334 A SYLVAN CITY. 

merit of offenders — whether the criiinnal pardoned out 
while the sound of the sentence to just punishment is 
still in his ears, or the condoning of all oftenses against 
social law and life — would seem to confirm the verdict. 
That an emergency finds always determined and reso- 
lute men and women ready for it, does not hinder the 
fact that the arising of such emergency could often have 
heen prevented, had common sense or any wise forecast 
been used in the heghming. The eagerness to avoid 
oflense and the determination to have every one as com- 
fortaljle as possil^le stand always in the way of any re- 
view of past difterences or future possibilities of difter- 
ence. Reminiscence is frowned upon, and thus one of 
the most efiectual means of developing manhood and 
genuine patriotism is lost. The boy's blood may tingle 
as he hears 

" How well Horatius kept the bridge, 
In the brave days of okt;" 

but the brave day tliat is l)ut yesterday is a sealed bf)ok. 
its story, if told at all, uiven in a whisper subdued 
enough to prevent any possibility of discomfort for sen- 
sitive or squeamish listener. 

"AVhat was it all for, anyway V' asked a boy of 
twelve not long ago, who, iu his school bistory of the 
United States had come to the civil war, and who. hke 
a large proportion of the boys of this generation, found 
it of more remote interest even than tlie war of the 
Revolution. Ilis ftither had been one of its volunteers, 
And the family record held name after name of friends 










\V. U. ILK^ii&o, D.i)., LL.i). 



EABL Y A B OLITIOXLSTS. 337 

fallen in the conflict we are all forgetting ; yet the child, 
true to our American theories, was growing up with no 
sense of what the issue meant, and with an impatient 
disregard of worn-out details. 

We "love mercy " so well that we forget that the 
first clause of the old command is to "do justly," and 
so year l)y year the capacity for justice lessens. Keen 
moral sense is Ijlunted, and life becomes more and more 
a system of shadings, and black and white simply 
clouded, uncertain and dirty gray. 

Such word seems necessary in beginning any mention 
of a party to whose unconquerable and marvelous per- 
sistence is due every result of good in the conflict which 
ended forever all need of their further work. That the 
early AboUtionists were often bitter, fierce, intolerant, 
was the inevitable consequence of an intense purpose, 
and the narrowness that, save in the rarest exceptions, 
is the necessary accompaniment of intensity. It is never 
the broad and quiet lake, knowing no obstruction, that 
rushes on to the sea. It is the stream shut in by rocks 
and fed from hidden sources that swells and deepens till 
no man's hand can bind or stay the sweeping current. 

It is possible that the time has not yet come for dis- 
passionate statement, but it is also a question if dispas- 
sionateness be the only quality it is worth while for 
Americans to cultivate. Too often it ends as indifter- 
entism, and when that stage is reached progress becomes 
impossible. In spite of our modern tendencies, it is 
still worth while to feel strongly, to believe intensely, 



338 A SYLVAN CITY. 

to live as if life had meaning, and there is no stronger 
incitement than the knowledge of earnest lives lived 
through difficulties of which wc have but faintest con- 
ception, and ending often without any consciousness 
tliat tlicir purposes had been recognized or their dreams 
Vtecomc realities. 

Quiet Init always untiring and undaunted workers, 
these steady, elear-eyed men and women passed over to 
the majority, and, like the workers of an earlier day, 
they "received not the promise, God having provided 
some l>etter thing for us, that they without us should 
not be made perfect." Comprehension of their princi- 
ples, loving remembrance of every faithful act is the 
only method in which through us they may have full 
sense of what iheh- labor meant, and thus find the heart 
of the old words, which, if they mean an3'thing, mean 
surely that till we do understand, their happiness lacks 
its full completion. 

Philadelphia and Boston represent the most earnest 
work of a period, the tire and fervor of which arc now 
almo>t iiK-omprehensiblc. With Philadelphia, the first 
step taken was by William Penn, who, in his second 
visit, labored anxiously to undo certain results of his 
action which he had not foreseen. In 1685, sending 
over various directions to his deputies concerning ser- 
vants to be employed, he had written : ''It were better 
they were blacks, for then a man has them while they 
live." At this time negroes had been brought in in 
some numbers, and the most conscientious Friends held 



EARL T ABOLTTTONISTS. 339 

slaves, though as early as 1071 George Fox had advised 
the Friends in Barbadoes to ''train up their slaves in 
the fear of God, to cause their overseers to deal mildly 
and gentl}' with them, and, after certain years of servi- 
tude, they should make them free/' 

The necessit}' for such measures had become evident 
to Penn ; and the German Friends who settled (Terman- 
town, and who, in 1()!^8, brought l)efore the Yeai'ly 
Meeting the question ''concerning the lawfulness and 
unlawfulness of buying and keeping negroes," pressed it 
still further upon his attention. By 1696 so many evils 
had resulted that advice was issued at the Yearly Meet- 
ing " that Friends be careful not to encourage the bring- 
ing in any more negroes; and that such that have 
negroes be careful of them, bring them to meetings, 
have meetings with them in their fomilies, and restrain 
them from loose and lewd living as much as in them 
lies, and from rambUng abroad on First-day or otlier 
times." 

From this date began a very gradual emancipation, 
but eighty years passed before the entire prohibition of 
slaveholding was made part of the discipline of the so- 
ciety. In 1700 Penn brought before the Provincial Coun- 
cil a law for regulating the marriage of negroes, but it 
failed to pass, and the record tells how "he mourned 
over the state of the slaves, but his attempts to improve 
their condition by legal enactments were defeated in the 
house of Assemblv/' 

In his own rehgious society he was more successful. 



340 A SYLVAN CITY. 

the minute of the Monthly Meeting in the same j-ear 
liaving this item : "Our dear friend and governor having 
laid before the meeting a concern that hath laid upon 
his mind for some time concerning the negroes and In- 
dians ; that Friends ought to be very careful in dis- 
charging a good conscience toward them in all rt'spccts, 
but more especially for the good of their souls, and that 
they might, as frequent as may l)e, come to nu'cting on 
First-days: upon consideration whereof this meeting 
concludes to appoint a meeting for the negroes, to bt* k('])t 
once a month, and that their ma^tci-s give noticf tbereof 
in their own families and be ^JrcsciU with them at the 
said meetings as frequent as may bi." 

Though charged with having died a slavcboldtT. it 
was certainly not because no proper means wwv taken 
for lil)erating his slaves, for in his will, made in ITol. 
Penn liberated every slave in his posse>si(>n. ihr will 
being now in Ibe bands of Thomas (iilpin, of Pbiladel- 
phia, and containing this clause: ■" I .i,nve to my l>laik< 
their freedom as is under mij hand alreadii, and to old 
Sam one bnndred acres, lobe his children's, al'ler he and 
his wife are dead, forever/' 

His intentions were not perfectly canied out. as is 
evident from one of James Logan's letters to Hannah 
Penn, written in 17'21, and now to be seen in the Histori- 
cal Society's rooms, in which he says : " The i)roprietor. 
in a will left with me at his departure hence, gave all bis 
negroes their freedom, \mt this is cntireh/ jjrivate; how- 
ever, there are very few left." Any failure in action on 




ISAAC T. HOPPER. 



EARLY ABOLITIONISTS. 



his executors' part need not, however, be charged upon 
Penn himself, who must, without question, rank as the 
first Philadelphia Abolitionist. 

Only an occasional remonstrance was heard at rare in- 
tervals for man}' years. The 1()\ e of money and of power 
was too strong among the wealthy merchants of the city 
or the large planters in the outlying country, and nothing 
could be obtained from the Yearly Meeting but a mild 
suggestion that further importation of slaves was un- 
desirable, while man}' a serious, drab-coated member 
argued with glibness in the same line of defense of op- 
pression and avarice followed by Presbyterian and Epis- 
copalian doctors of divinity, and, indeed, by the churches 
in general. Nothing could well be darker than the out- 
look, yet in that darkness a force was working unknown 
and unseen, the first visible spark showing itself at a 
point so remote and inconspicuous that it held no sug- 
gestion of the steady light soon to shine out with a glow 
and intensity that even to-day is as powerful as a hundred 
years ago. 

Few souls since the Christian era began have held 
more of the spirit of the Master than that of John 
Woolman, living and dying in poverty and obscurity, 
yet leaving in his journal a record of self-denying labor 
so simple and tender, not only in spirit but in language 
also, that one need not wonder at Charles Lamb's en- 
thusiasm as he wrote : " Get the writings of John Wool- 
man by heart." Born in 1720, his first action against 
the principles of slavery was not taken till 1742, when, 



344 A SYLVAN CITY. 



in drawing up an instrument for the transfer of a slave, 
lie felt a sudden and strong scruple against such dese- 
cration of anything owning a soul. From this dated a 
life-long testimon}' against slavery, and for many years 
he traveled from point to point, never vehement or de- 
nunciatory, but pleading always, with a gentleness that 
proved irresistible, the cause of the oppressed. 

In the meantime a quaint and curious figure had (Al- 
tered the same way, but with small thought of per>ua- 
sion or consideration. Coming to Philadelphia from 
the West Indies where he had become deeply interested 
in the condition of the slaves, Benjamin Lay, furious at 
finding the same evil existing there, shook ort' the dust 
of the faithless city and took up his dwelling a few 
miles out. Here he lived in a natural cave, slightly 
improved by a ceiling of beams, drinking only water 
from a spring near his door and eating only vegetables. 
lie refused to wear any garment or eat any food whose 
manufacture or preparation involved the loss of animal 
life or was the result of slave labor. On the last point 
.lohn Woolman was in full accord with him, but found 
it a struggle to wear the undyed homespun which hi' 
finally assumed, as the necessary badge of the simplicity 
he preached. 

Xo concern for the prejudices or feelings of others 
hampered the career of the irrepressible Benjamin, 
whose figure was no less eccentric than his life. '• Only 
four and a half feel high, hunchbacked, with projecting 
chest, legs small and uneven, arms longer than his legs. 



^^f?iC"^^Sr 




LEWIS TAPPAN. 



EARL Y AB OLITIONISTS. 347 

a huge head, showing only beiieatli the enormous wliitc 
hat, large, solemn eyes and a prominent nose ; the rest 
of his face covered with a snowy semi-circle of beard fall- 
ing low on his breast," this tierce and prophetical 
brownie or kobold made unexpected dashes into the 
calm precincts of the Friends' meeting-houses, and was 
the gad-fly of every assembly. A fury of protest pos- 
sessed him — a power of energetic denunciation aV)so- 
lutely appalling to the steady-minded Quakers. At one 
time when the Yearly Meeting was in progress, he sud- 
denly appeared marching up the aisle in his long, white 
overcoat, regardless of the solemn silence prevailing. 
He stopped suddenly when midway and exclaiming, 
"You slaveholders'. Why don't you throw oif your 
Quaker coats as I do mine, and show yourselves as you 
are ?" at the same moment threw off his coat. Under- 
neath was a military coat and a sword dangling against 
his heels. " Holding in one hand a large book, he 
drew his sword with the other. ' In the sight of God,' 
he cried, 'you are as guilty as if you stabbed your 
slaves to the heart, as I do this book I' suiting the ac- 
tion to the word, and piercing a small bladder tilled 
with the juice of the poke-weed {phijtolacca dccandra), 
which he had concealed between the covers, and sprin- 
kling as with fresh blood those who sat near him." 

John Woolman's testimony was of quite another 
character, but Benjamin Lay was the counterpart as 
well as forerunner of many less rational agitators who 
in later years could never separate the oflender from the 



348 A SYLVAN CITY. 

sin often ignorantl}^ and innocently committed. Offen- 
sive as his course was felt to be, it was one of the active 
forces which no doubt had aided in paving the way to 
the decisive action of 1758, a date important not only 
in the history of the anti-slavery cause but as one of the 
most important religious convocations the Christian 
church has ever known. Through the general business 
John Woolman sat silent, and silent, too, as one and 
another faithful Friend gave in their testimony against 
any further toleration of slavery as a system. Then he 
rose and made an appeal, whose solemn tenderness 
still thrills every reader, and which, when eye and voice 
and all the intluence of the gentle yet intensely earnest 
presence were added, rendered more than momentary op- 
position impt^ssible. Then and there the meeting agreed 
that the injunction of our Lord and Saviour to do to 
others as we would that others should do to us, should 
induce Friends who held slaves "to set them at liberty, 
making a Christian i)r<)vi.-i()n for them," and four 
Friends — John Woolman, Jolm Scarborough, Daniel 
Stanton and John Sykes — were approved of as suitable 
persons to visit and treat witii such as k('\)i slaves, 
within the limits of the meeting. 

Naturally, outside these limits there was steady op- 
position. The record gives many years of effort in 
which only a projiortion (-(mid be brought to admit the 
injustice or wrong of slavery, but it was a proportion that 
increased yearly. Tlirough all wcarincs.s and discour- 
agement John Woolman went hi> patient way, journey- 



EARLY ABOLITIONISTS. 349 

ing on foot wherever in the widely-separated settlements 
the voiee of the oppressed seemed to eall, and leaving 
always behind him a memory of pitying love and devo- 
tion, l)efore which all defenses fell. I5nt the practice, 
though abating, required more active measures, and in 
1T7G came the final action of the Yearly Meeting, all 
subordinate meetings being then directed to deny the 
right of membership to such as persisted in holding their 
fellow-men as property. Four years before this con- 
summation for which he had spent his life, John AVool- 
man had passed on to the unhampered life and work of 
a country where bond and free are equal. Deep hope- 
lessness came for a time on those who had worked with 
him, and who, as he passed from sight, murmured again 
the sad old words, "we thought this had been he who 
should have redeemed Israel." 

But the thread in this apostolical succession was not 
lost. If transmigration were an admittable theory, one 
might say that the soul of John "Woolman sought some 
fitting medium to continue its work, and found lodg- 
ment in the baby that in December, 1771, opened its 
eyes on a world through which it journeyed with all the 
energy and purpose that had led the elder man— with all 
his sweetness too, but with a courageous cheer the frailer 
body had never known. For Isaac Hopper came of 
sturdy stock, and, though Quaker on one side of the 
house, did not become a member of the Society of 
Friends till he was twenty-tAvo, and then through the 
preaching of AVilliam Savery and Mary Ridgeway, two 



350 A SYLVAN CITY. 

Frieiicls who were often heard in the Philadelphia meet- 
ings. Through Wilhani 8a very 's agency EHzabeth Fry 
turned to the worlc which he had prophesied would be 
hers, and which in later life became Isaac Hopper's 
also. Already the Pennsylvania Abolition Society had 
been formed, and in his early l)oyhood Isaac Hopper 
had had his lirst experience in aiding a fugitive slave to 
elude pursuit, and Mud quarters where none could mo- 
lest or make him afraid. ^Nfarried in 1795 and settling 
l)ermanently in Philadeli)hia, he became at once a lead- 
ing member of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, as 
well as one of the overseers of a school for colored chil- 
dren, a memorial of Anthony Benezet, a French 
Huguenot by birth, whose house remained standing on 
Chestnut street until IS4(). Anthony is described as 
''a small, eager-faced nian, full of zeal and activity, 
constantly engaged in works of benevolence, which were 
by no means contined to the blacks, and who was an 
untiring friend to the unhai)i)y Acadians. many of 
whom wi're landed in Phila(leli)hia by th(> >hips which 
brought them from Xova Scotia." 

In this school, and in one founded later for colored 
adults, he taught two or three evenings each week for 
many years, and had l)ecome known throughout Phila- 
delphia as the friend and legal adviser of colored people 
under every emergency. From 170.') to lS-20, when he 
removed to Xcw York, each year held its record of 
courage and /eal in a work more and more necessary as 
time went on. Runaways were constantly passing 




'/*— 




LUCRETIA MOTT. 



EARL Y AB LITIONISTS. 353 

through the city, and the laws of that date were neither 
understood nor attended to. Whenever a negro ar- 
rested as a fugitive slave was discharged for want of 
proof, no fee was paid ; but if the verdict made him a 
slave, and he was surrendered to his claimant, from 
five to twenty dollars were given to the magistrate. 
Naturally they made the most of any facts in favor of 
slavery, and thus there was never wanting opportunity 
for the efforts of men like Hopper, who took delight in 
suddenly confounding and upsetting the best-laid plans. 
A volume would be necessary for the stories which 
Father Hopper in later years told to all who questioned, 
and many of which were printed in the Anti- Slaver ij 
Standard and other organs of the society, a mine for all 
who would know the spirit and purpose of one of the 
most intense and persistent struggles ever made on 
American soil. Appeal was seldom resorted to, for 
Father Hopper's wit was as keen as his heart was big, 
and his personal presence so strong and impressive that 
even his enemies looked with an admiration they could 
not repress on the noble face and figure of this smiling 
marplot of all their schemes. With a sense of humor 
that seemed always to conflict slightly with his Quaker 
garb and principles, he had also the power of an indig- 
nation that could scorch and shrivel ; and Hke all men 
who have the courage of their convictions, made ene- 
mies, who in some cases, after a fury of opposition, 
turned about and became the strongest of friends. 
The yearly meetings of the Anti-Slavery Society 



354 A SYLVAy CITY. 

l)rought together a li.>*t of names eaeh one representing 
individualities so marked and positive that only the 
fervor of a comniou. purpose eould liave made working 
togetlier praeticable. In that early group women were 
as prominent as at a later day, and among them all 
none was more completely oblivious of self than Abi- 
gail Goodwin, who lived to see the last chain broken, 
after seventy-four years of unwearying ettbrt. Her own 
clothes were ])atched and forlorn far beyond those of the 
average beggar, Init worn with a calm unconsciousness 
of their extraordinary character; and, indeed, few who 
luoki'd on tlieearnot tace, with its half-sad, half-humor- 
ous intensity, stop[)i'd to consider what garb was worn. 
She worki'd for the slave as a mother works for her own 
children, Ijcgglug garments which she mended or made 
ovei- iudefatigably ; knitting bag after bag of stockings, 
and sitting up half the night to earn some petty sum 
tin-ncd over instantly to the s(K-iety. She wrote for 
everv anti-slavery Journal, begged inevery direction for 
money, implored friends to take stock in the I'nder- 
ground Railroad, and to the last day of her life burnetl 
with an actual passion of good-will ; and. it nuist be 
added, an i'(pial inability to conceive that a slaveholder 
might also have some conception of justice and hu- 
manity. 

Her belief was shared by another woman, equally no- 
tal)le and innong the earliest organizers in such work — 
Ksther Moore, the wife of Dr. Kobert Moore. The })as- 
sage of the Fugitive Slave l)ill necessarily intensified 




J. MILLER m'KIM. 



EARL T AB OLITIONISTS. 357 

all feeling and made dispassionate thought impossible, 
and though nearly eighty when this crowning iniquity 
became a portion of United States law, she worked 
against the results with the eagerness of her youth. For 
many years she had begged that special notification 
should be sent her of every fugitive who passed through 
Philadelphia, and during the whole time made it her 
business to supply to each one a gold dollar, the Society 
being barely able to defray their expenses on to the next 
station, with no provision for wants when the final one 
was reached. With larger personal means than Abigail 
Goodwin, she denied herself in all possible ways that the 
little coin might be always ready for the empty hand, 
and almost her last injunction was: "Write to Oliver 
Johnson, and tell him I die firm in the faith. Mhid 
the slave !" 

" Mind the slave !" was the watchword for all. De- 
pression seems to have been unknown. In fact, there 
was no time for depression, for between the opposition, 
which is always a stimulant, and the actual work of pro- 
viding food, clothing and means for the throng of fugi- 
tives, there was unfailing and unceasing occupation for 
all. High-hearted courage and self-sacrifice inspired all 
alike, and the mere coming together of men and women 
animated by a profound conviction was in itself almost 
a Pentecost. 

In removing from Philadelphia Isaac Hopper's inter- 
est was in degree transferred to the Xew York society, 
and the work he had done passed into the hands of 



858 A SYLVAN CITY. 

Thomas Sliipley, for many years President of the Penn- 
sylvania Abolition Society, of Avhicli he became an active 
meml)er in 1S17. Opposition made no impression ui)on 
liim, and he devoted every energy of his powerful and 
judicial mind to defense not only of the principles he 
held, but of every one who needed their application, the 
thousands who followed him to his grave, in 1836, being 
the best witnesses of what his hfe had done for both black 
and white. Almost the same words might be said of 
Thomas Garrett, who, though living in Wilmington, 
was a familiar figure in every public meeting at Phila- 
delphia, and who, while as unobtrusive as Daniel Gib- 
bons, another of the earlier worthies, fought to the end 
with unceasing vigor, not only for the slave, but for 
every cause affecting the i)ublic good. To give the com- 
plete roll of these names, each one deserving full biog- 
raphy, is impossible in present limits, Init there is ample 
material an<l opportunity for a series of lives, which, if 
properly given, should hold no less power and fascina- 
tion than those of Plutarch. 

As one by one the names on the society roll received 
the significant asterisk, new ones, to become no less 
honored and honorable, took their places. Popular feel- 
ing, which, contrary to received belief, is by no means 
always the voice of (iod, became more and more embit- 
tered against the movement. Riots had taken place 
not only in Bostim and New York, but in the more law- 
abiding Philad('li)hia. Abolitionists were regarded as 
disturbers of the public peace, interferers with private 





MARY GREW. 



EARL Y AB OLITIONISTS. 361 

business and profit, and murmurs of indignation turnctl 
at last to veritable howls. The passage of the Fugitive 
Slave bill did more to intensify conviction on ])oth sides 
and to precipitate the issue of ten years later than any 
act of the fifty years of steadil}' increasing oppression by 
which it had been preceded. Fanaticism had lessened 
and the society held names representing the l)roadest 
and deepest culture of the time, that of Dr. Furness 
holding a power hardly less than that of Dr. Channing. 
A man consecrated to the scholar's life, both by inheri- 
tance and personal tastes, he turned from "the still air 
of delightful studies " to a conflict, endurable only be- 
cause its failure or success meant the failure or success 
of every moral question. The men who banded to- 
gether in that pregnant ten years : Furness, Charles 
Cleveland, Miller McKim, Tappan, the Burleighs, Bir- 
ney, Peirce, and the "honorable women not a few,'' 
Lucretia Mott, Mary Grew, the Lewis sisters, did a 
work in which lay the seed of every reform we compla- 
cently regard as the effect of our republican institutions. 
There were 3'ears in which these much-vaunted institu- 
tions covered as absolute a despotism as that of Russia, 
church and state uniting to preserve established order, 
and threatening with the terrors of the law any rash 
soul who questioned their justice. Such fate overtook 
Fassmore Williamson, who accepted imprisonment as 
the price of free speech ; and who, though pelted with 
abuse as abductor, rioter and disturber of the public 
peace, left his prison with the knowledge that the 



A SYLVAN- C'TTY. 



months, so far from lu'inj^" lost time, had workt'd for 
him bc3'on(l any power he alone eonld have ever liad. 

Day Ijy day stories more thriUiug than any page lias 
ever held were poured into the ears of the society. The 
Underground liailroad worked day and night transfer- 
ring fugitives, and covered its operations so perfectly 
that until the time came when the need for concealment 
ended no one outside the organization knew its othcers 
or its methods. The full story, has been told l)y William 
Still in a book which ought to be far better known than 
it is, holding, as it does, the record of the Philadelphia 
branch of the road, and giving the results of all the 
j'ears of organization. The incredible perils and hard- 
ships of the innumerable fugitives are only exceeded 
by the self-denying lives of the men and womi'U who, 
for the sake of a i)rinciple, sacrificed ease and wealth 
and all personal ambition, and gave themselves and all 
they had to the work of redemption. Xo name in the 
long list shines with purer light than that of Lucrelia 
Mott, who united a1)solute fidelity to every private re- 
sponsibility with a devotion to the highest public duties 
that has had hardly a parallel. Protestation was her 
birthright, for on the mother's side she was descended 
from old Peter Folger, also the ancestor of Franklin, 
who sent out from Xantucket, in 1(»7('), a vigorous testi- 
mony to the need of religious toleration for all. Ilis 
''A TiOoking-Glass for the Times'' is "one long jet of 
manly, uugrannuatical, valiant doggerel," and at the 
end, determined to evade no responsibility, he 'Mvove 




GEACB ANNA. LEWIS. 



EARL Y AB OLITTONISTS. 



his name and his place of abode into the tissue of his 
verse," that all might know who he was and where he 
could be found if need arose. 

This blood, temjiered by that of the Coflins and Macys, 
and subdued by generations of Quaker discipline, never 
lost a certain effervescing quality, and to the day of her 
death Lucretia Mott's lambent eyes were witness to 
the nature of the spirit that dwelt within. The "con- 
secration and the dream " were never divided. An 
almost perfect marriage — a life that dwelt in her home 
and children, yet opened wide to every noble thought 
and aim, assured her personal happiness and made in- 
evitable trials light. She could denounce, but her mind 
was judicial, and she saw always both sides of a ques- 
tion, presenting them with a candor that at times 
enraged the more narrow and prejudiced members. Her 
life is still to be written, but in the long line of Phila- 
delphia Abolitionists no name can ever hold more honor 
or dearer remembrance. The old days are past and the 
generation that knew them is passing too. They die, 
but their work is immortal, and whether forgotten or 
remembered, without it the republic would have been a 
failure and social progress a vain dream. 



MEDICAL EDUCATION 



The student who takes his place to-day in the amphi- 
theatre of the University Hospital and watches the 
stages of some critical and delicate operation, or who 
finds the dissecting-room lighted and his " suhject '' 
made, by modern apphcations of science, as little often- 
sive as possible, has small conception of the difficulties 
that even fifty years ago made medical study something 
to be snatched at in secret. The traditions of the past 
hedged about every practitioner and l)arred tlie way to 
investigation for every student. The physician of the 
past held the same relation to the general public that 
the '^ medicine-man " of the present does to the circle (^f 
believers who watch his movements with an awed con- 
viction that his power comes straight from another 
world. To them the black art and medicine are synony- 
mous, and for all rude communities this is more or le^s 
the accepted view. Rehgious rites are an essential part 
of the medical system for the savage, and this theory 
has been perpetuated by the fact that the clergy were 
also the physicians of the early colonists, and that pill 
and powder had an added unction and efficacy when 
administered by holy hands. Each step toward any real 
scientific basis has been hampered by such traditions 
367 



368 A SYLVAN CITY. 

and by the credulity and stupidity of the present, and 
even now the most distinguished scholars in the pro- 
fession admit that medicine cannot yet be called an 
exact science. 

In such admission is its surest hope for the future, 
and the eager experimenters avIio, at all the great cen- 
tres of the civilized world, are searching into the sL'civts 
of life and of disease, are building up a system which 
has truer foundation than any laid since the story of 
disease and death began for the world. 

In such researches Philadelphia has in many points 
led the way for American students. In Boston tlic 
chief physician for a time was also a Presbyterian min- 
ister, the liev. Thomas Thatcher, who in 11577 i)u1j- 
lished the first medical treatise written in this country, 
"A Brief Guide to the Small-Pox and ^Eeasles." 
Guides, whether brief or otherwise, were sadly needed, 
both of these diseases again and again decimating both 
colonists and Indians, while it raged among the pas- 
sengers of the ire ?co?)«', from which Penn and his com- 
panions landed just two hundred years ago. Two 
trained i)hysi<-ians, Thomas Wynne and (xrithth Owen, 
were with liim, and found ample occupation for years in 
fighting not only small-pox and measles, but yellow 
fever, " American distemper " and the various fevers 
and acute diseases consequent upon the hardships and 
irregularities of life in a new country. The common 
people followed Indian prescriptions, using golden- rod 




MEDICAL HALL, UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA. 



MEDICAL K Die AT I OX. 371 



for (lysontcrv, boneset for ai>iu's iiiid coiisuinplion, and 
alder-])iuls and dittany for tlu' blood. II('rl)s and r(K»l<, 
if they did not cure at least did not kill, and their yv'vj^w 
was inlinitely better than that of the i)atent medicine «>1' 
to-day. 

When fifty years or more had passed, the corps of 
physicians from abroad began to be replaced by a gen- 
eration born on American soil. The pioneers had been 
English and had studied in London or Edinburg or 
Leyden, as the case might be. Dr. John Kearsley and 
Dr. Thomas Graeme were as popular as Wynne and 
Owen, and even more public spirited, Dr. Kearsley hav- 
ing been a member of the Assembly, and was often, 
after a telling speech, borne home on the shoulders of 
the people. John Kearsley, Jr., in time filled his place 
with almost equal efficiency, forming one of a brilliant 
and memorable group — Lloyd Zachary, Thomas Cad- 
wallader, AVilliam Shippen, Sr., Thomas and Phineas 
Bond, John Redman, John Bard. These men encour- 
aged students and gave the most thorough medical edu- 
cation possible at a time when neither colleges, nor 
hospitals, nor dissecting-rooms were in existence, but 
the majority were forced to complete their studies 
abroad. Two of these students. Dr. William Shijipen 
and Dr. John Morgan, both natives of Philadelpiiia and 
both educated abroad, saw the nbsolute necessity for 
better means of study at home, and began in 17G2 a 
course of lectures on anatomy and midwifery accompa- 
nied by dissections, before a class of ten students, tlie 



373 A STL VAX f'TTT. 

lii-st systt'inatie coiuses over delivered in America, stive 
those given b}- Dr. Hunter, at Xewport, in IT-V), 

Di-. Morgan gained notoriety in an unexpected direc- 
tion, being the first man in Philadelpliia to carry a silk 
mnbrella. Dr. Chanceller and the energetic Tory, Par- 
son Duehe, afterward kept him company, and, though 
at first every one sneered at them as effeminate and full 
of airs, they won the day in the end. Dr. Morgan also 
refused to compound or carry his own medicines, and 
sent to the apothecary for them, an innovation even 
more startling and provoking more opposition than the 
umbrella. It may be judged that he was a gentleman 
with very decided opinions and no hesitation in their 
expression, and these characteristics were essential to 
any success in the new movement. 

Dr. Cadwallader's lectures given in 17r)(), after his r<'- 
turn from the London schools, had been of little (^tlect 
from being unaccompanied by demonstrations, but Dr. 
Shippen's marked the beginning of a new era, and the 
announcement of them may still be seen in the Penni^ijl- 
vania Gazette for Xovember 25, \7&2 : 

"Dr. Shippen's Anatomical Lectures will begin to-mor- 
row evening at six o'clock, in his father's house, in Fourth 
Street. Tickets lV)r the course to be had of the Doctor at 
five Pistoles each, and any gentlemen who incline to see 
the subject i)rei>ared for the lectures and learn the art of 
Dissecting. Injections, t^'o., are to pay five Pistoles more." 

liOokingal thi> with niodcni eyes, it seems a -Iraighl- 
forward and business-like announcement ol" some xcvy 
essential work, but the people of Philadelphia in lli'd 



MEDICAL EDUCATION. 873 

took a very diftereiit view. The anatomist pursued his 
investigations at the risk of his life. ;Mol)l)ing was 
talked of and feared, and the quiet house on North 
Fourth street, then some distance out of town, was 
looked upon as the haunt of body-snatehers and tlu- 
favorite abiding place of ghosts. A long back yard led to 
an alley, and here the students stole in and out, shrouded 
in their long cloaks, and not daring to enter till dark- 
ness had settled down. With the more sensible citizens 
the agitation soon passed, but the prejudice lingered, 
traces of it being perceptible even to this day. 

Until within a few years a lonely building by the stone 
bridge over the Cohocksink, on North Third street, was 
considered a receptacle for dead bodies brought there by 
the dreaded body-snatchers, "where their flesh was 
boiled and their bones burnt down for the use of tlu- 
faculty ;" and as "No Admittance " was on the door, 
and once a fortnight saw volumes of noisome and 
penetrating black smoke issuing from the chimneys, 
why should any one care to admit that it was simply a 
place for boiling oil and making hartshorn ? Certainly 
not the boys, who went as near as they dared, and re- 
treated suddenly, singing : 

" The body-snatchers ! they have come, 

And made a snatch at me ; 
It 's very hard them kind of men 

Won't let a body be ! 
Don't go to weep upon my grave, 

And think that there I '11 be ; 
They haven't left an atom there 

Of my anatomy." 



374 A SYLVAN CITY. 

Three years after Dr. Sliippen's course bad been es- 
tablished Dr. Morgan jouied him, but their united ener<;y 
would have failed had not Franklin, alive to the deep 
importance of the subject, used all his influence to es- 
tablish something permanent and betittiniz; the needs of 
a growing city. "The College of Philadelphia'' had 
been founded by Franklin and others in 1741>. and char- 
tered by Thomas and Richard Penn, but it was not inUil 
May 3, 17G.'), that the board of trustees of this institu- 
tion unanimously elected Dr. Morgan Professor of the 
Theory and Practice of Physic, thereby ci-eating the 
first medical professorship in America. A few months 
later. Dr. Shippen was elected Professor of Anatomy 
and Surgery. 

The foundation for good work had already been laid, 
not only in the courses of lectures already given, but in 
the organization of a hospital. As usual, Franklin's 
energy was the moving powin-, his great popularity se- 
curing pul)lic contribution, though the needs of the sick 
and wounded in the growing colony had long been re- 
cognized by the physicians into whose bands tlu'V came. 
No class of men in the connnunity do as much gratui- 
tous work — not only gratuitous, but unrecognized — and 
there is therefore no cause for wonder that their action 
in the beginning of the undertaking held the same spirit 
which still rules all true meml)ers of the profession. 

"At the time of the incorixtration of this eluuitalde iii- 
stituti<»ii Ctlie Pennsylvania Hospital), when, on an ai->peal 
lur assistance being made to the Provincial Assembly, one 




UNITERSITY HOSPITAL. 



MEDTCAL EDUCATION. 377 

of the objections offered to the measure was that the cost 
of medical attendance woidd alone be suthcient to con- 
sume all the money that could be raised, it was met by the 
offer of Dr. Zachary and the Bonds to attend the patients 
j^ratuitously for three years. This became the settled un- 
derstanding with the Board of Physicians and Suigeons, 
nor have we learned that the compact has ever been an- 
nulled or abrogated during the period of one hundred and 
thirty-one years (from 1751 to the i)resent date), an in- 
stance of disinterested i)hilanthroi»y which has been gene- 
rally followed in the charitable institutions dei)ending on 
medical attendance, not only of this city, but throughout 
the length and breadth of the land."* 

The necessity for a library was at once apparent, and 
partly through private, partly public contribution, it 
w^as founded one hundred and nineteen years ago. At 
present it contains nearly thirteen thousand volumes, 
accessible, under the necessary regulations, to all stu- 
dents and physicians. 

Here, as in the United Kingdom, two medical degrees 
were to be conferred— the Bachelor's and the Doctor's. 
For the former degree it was necessary that the candi- 
date should exhibit a sutticient acquaintance with the 
Latin tongue and with mathematics and philosophy ; he 
must have a general knowledge of pharmacy, and have 
been apprenticed to a reputable practitioner in physic. 
He was obliged also to attend one course of clinical and 
one of didactic lectures, as well as the practice of the 
Pennsylvania Hospital for one year. After being pri- 

* A History of the Medical Depautment of the Univer- 
sity OF Pennsylvania. By the lute Joseph Carson, M. D. Phila- 
delphia, 1869. 



378 A S7LVA^'' CITY. 

vjitely examined by the fiiculty, he wus then submitteil 
to a puljUe examination by the medical trustees and i)ro- 
fessors and such professors and trustees in other dei)a!-t- 
ments as chose to attend. To obtain the Doctor's degree 
it was requisite that tln-ee years should have passed since 
the conferring of the Bachelor's degree ; that the candi- 
date should be full twenty-four years old, and that he 
should write and publicl}' defend a thesis in the college. 

A separate chair of Miiteria Medica and liotany was 
created in 1768, to which Dr. Adam Kuhn, wlio had 
studied these branches in Sweden under T.inmeus, was 
at once elected, holding the position until he assumed 
the Chair of Practice, a period of twenty-one years. 

Commencement, however inditlerently it ma}' l)e re- 
garded by the outer world, is a season of profound ex- 
citement to those more closely concerned ; V)ut that of 
June 1st, 1708, held a deep signiticance to every citizen 
who watciied the course of progress for the colony. In 
the old minutes of the board of trustees may still be rvixd 
the stately paragraphs in which this '' Birthday of ^ledi- 
cal Honors in America " is described in full, and we can 
see the imposing procession of "the several Professors 
and Medical Candidates in their proper Habits ])rocee(l- 
ingfrom the Apparatus-Room to the Public Hall, where 
a polite assembly of their fellow-citizens were convened 
to honor the Solemnity." 

'' Solenmity " it undoubtedly was, for what hopes and 
fears had not enti'red into this three years of laborious 
experiment 'f The Provost gave voice to the magnitude 



MEDICAL EDUCATION. 37'.> 



of the occasion in sonorons Latin, and an oration in the 
same tongue followed, lightness and ^racc Ixini: given 
to the rather ponderous ceremonies l)y the lirsl public 
discujssion : '' A Dispute ANMiether the Helina oi- Tuuiea 
Choroide be the Immediate Scat of \'i>iou V The aigu- 
ment for the retina was ingeniously maiutaiued hy Mr. 
Cowell ; the opposite side of the ipiestiou was supported 
with great acuteness by Mr. Fullerton, who contended 
that the retina is incapable of the otliee ascribed to it. 
on account of its being easily permeable to the rays of 
light, and that the choroid coat, by its l)eing opaque, is 
the proper part tor stopping the rays and receiving the 
picture of the object." 

Ten graduates received the degree of l^aclielor of 
Medicine, not a name among them having failed to win 
honor in the after career, and several of them trans- 
mitting both honor and the same ability to descendants 
who are in active life to-day. 

King's College, in Xew York, whicli had in I7t)'.> 
given the degree of B. M., followed in the ensuing year 
with that of M. D., this honor not lacing conferred by 
the Philadelphia college till 1771 ; and thus, though 
Philadelphia led the way in the award of any medical 
degree, Xew York can, of course, claim priority in 
having given the doctorate. 

No chair of Chemistry had at lirst been founded, but 
one of the most brilliant students Philadelphia has ever 
known made the new chair a matter of course. Though 
but twenty-four when he received the appointment. Dr. 



380 A SYLVAy CITY. 



Benjamin Rush was widely known, not only as chemist, 
l)ul tVoni the notes made by him hi his seventeenth year 
on the yellow fever of 17G2 — tlieonly record of that epi- 
demic in existence. lie brought with him from London, 
where he spent some time after liis graduation at the 
Edinburg School, a chemical apparatus presented by 
Thomas Penn, the only member of the Penn family who 
had any interest in the intellectual progress of the city 
they still counted as theirs. Probably so juvenile a 
facuUy has never before or since met within the walls of 
any college. Rush was but twenty-four : Kuhn, twenty- 
eight ; Shippen, thirty-three, and Morgan, the patriarch 
of the assembly, thirtj'-four. 

" The thouf^lits of youth arc long, long tlioughts," 
and these boyish professors, planning far l^eyond any 
present possibility, lived to see their dearest wishes 
fulfilled, and the college, to which the vigor and best 
energy of their early manhood had been given, unrivaled 
in its accomplishment, and sought by students from 
every state in the Union. 

The war of the Revolution jiroved a serious check to 
the steady growth of the school. During the occupa- 
ti(m of the city by the British all instruction was sus- 
pended, and some of tlie professors took their places as 
medical otficers in the army. In 1770 tlie college charter 
was abrogated, its officers removed and its property 
transferred to a new organization, the " University of 
the State of Pennsylvania," which received nuuli more 
extended educational i)rivileges and larger endowment. 




HAHNEMANN COLLEGE. 



MEDICAL EDUCATION. 383 



For twelve years the two schools gave indepeiulent 
courses of instruction, but at the cud (»(" (hat time they 
agreed to sink ditlerences and unite. At the same tinu", 
following the precedent of the I'niversity of Edinhur-:, 
the degree of B. M. was dropped and the time of study 
lin\ited to two courses in the institution, and thnn' y.-ars' 
pupilage under some respectable practitioner. 

Up to 1810, Obstetrics had no chair, but was taught 
in connection with anatomy. Dr. T. C. James was its 
tir.st regular professor. Another novelty came in at the 
same time, being applied to the pn liminary examina- 
tion of the student, which took place through a screen, 
only the dean knowing the applicant's name. This 
structure, known as "The Green Box," and looked 
upon with much the sanu> terror as that inspired by 
a hidden corner in the ln(iuisition, was maintained for 
ten years, and tlie name still cUngs to tlie dreaded 
ordeal. Public examination also has been abolished, 
and the student is now examined in private l)y each 

professor. 

An auxiliary faculty of live chairs was added in ISOo ; 
Zoology and Comparative Anatomy, liotany. Hygiene, 
Mineralogy and Geology, ^ledical Jurisprudence and 
Toxicology-lectures on these courses being given three 
times a week in April, May and June. 

A building which became known as SurgiM.us- IlaU. 
on Fifth street below Library, was Ihr lirst one erected 
specially for the school, and was used until 18(M», when 
a house on Ninth street, between Market and Chestnut, 



384 A SYLVAN CITY. 

was bought, which had been built as a mansion for the 

use of the Piesideiit of the United States, the corner- 
stone bearing tlie hiscription : 

" THIS COKNEK-STOXE WAS LAID 

ON THE IOTH day OF MAY, 1792. 

THE STATE OF I'EXXSYLVAXIA OUT OF DEBT. 

THOMAS MIFFLIN, GOVEKNOK." 

Three generations came and went before new and larger 
quarters were found, with ample space for any future 
growth. 

At Thirty-sixth street and the old Darby road, made 
now by corporation stupidity into Woodland avenue, a 
name as meaningless as the old one was suggestive, 
stands a group of the most beautiful buildings in the 
city — the medical hall and laboratory, with the hospital 
at the l)ack. The medical hall is the largest Inilldingof 
its kind in the United States, containing the museum, 
library, private rooms of the professors and the laborato- 
ries of physiology, cxpcrhiu-ntal therapeutics, histology 
and pathology, as well as the various lecture-rooms. 
An area of over seven thousand s(piare feet is covered 
by the adjacent buildings, which includes the two lal^ora- 
tories of chemistry, the dissecting room, and on the 
ground tioor the dental operating room. Each of these 
occupies an entire story, while separated only by a street 
is the University Hospital, with its dispensaries; and 
one square away the Philadelphia Hospital, with its 
thousand beds. 

No more bt'autil'ul group of buildings is to l)e found 
in the United States. The great trees of Harvard and 



MEDICAL EDUCATION. 1385 

Yiilc are kitkiiig, and the few set out here and there 
seem to Ihid the struggle for mere hte liard i-nough to 
prevent any attempt at growth. But velvety turf slopes 
away on the eastern side almost to the husy river. The 
eity lies -beyond, its many spires clear against the sky, 
and the student will hardly find an ah)L(i nuitcr more 
worthy of honor or remembrance. 

Up to 1879 the course of study was not especially rigid 
in its demands, and as rumored lack of thoroughnos 
existed, the graded course was instituted, and attend- 
ance upon three winter sessions made imperative if a 
diploma was to be secured. Hecently an exceedingly 
thorough (optional) medical course of four years has 
been organized, meeting with considerable success, 
while an entrance examination upon the main branches 
of a sound general education has also been added. De- 
tails of methods adopted are full of interest, but have 
no room in this sketch of the general system. It is suf- 
ficient to say of this parent school of American medi- 
cine, that it has always held fast to that which was 
good ; has stood ready and eager to respond to the de- 
mand for higher medical education, and that, while 
always conservative, it represents a conservatism which 
has ever been both enlightened and generous. 

The Jeiierson Medical College, of Philadelphia, char- 
tered April 7, 1S25, began as a branch of the JelVerson 
College, of Gannonsburg ; but became, thirteen years 
later, a distinct corporation. Its lirst teachings were 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



i^iveii at 518 Prune, now Locust street, in very hum))le 

(quarters, the ])uikling standing beside wliat was tlien 
the Potters' Field, now Washington S(|iiare, the old 
Walnut Street Prison still further darkening its out- 
look — a small Ix'ginning for a sehool wliieh now ranks 
as one of the most successful in llu' country, and which 
contended from its inception against deep-seated preju- 
dice and opposition. Time has proved that the found- 
ing of a second school, so far from injuring the first, 
has, by the competition thus introduced, largely aided 
in giving to Philadelphia its reputation as a great cen- 
tre of medical educatiim. 

The lirst sixteen years of the Ufe of " Old Jeft"," as it 
is affectionately called l:>y its alumni, were disturbed by 
jiublic opposilion, internal disxnsiou and IVeijucnt 
change in oilice. The faculty had organized with Dr. 
George McClellan, the founder and ruling spirit, and 
Drs. John Eberle, Jacob Green. William V. C. liarton. 
Benjamin Rush Khees, John Barnes and ^^atlian B. 
Smith, Dean ; l)ut one chair alone had eight incumbents 
during the period mentioned, and uncertainty was the 
only certain thing about the new venture. With 1S41 
and the resignation of Dr. ^IcClellan, came a " reor- 
ganization," and the assured linancial success of this 
alma )natcr of some of our most eminent practitioners, 
the new faculty having been headed by Dunglison and 
represenlc-d by Mitchell, Miitter, Meigs, Bache and 
rane(»ast. 

The catalogue for the session lS-2S-2n. announced that 



MEDICAL EDUCATION. 387 



''The present session of the lectures is held in the very 
elegant and appropriately furnished new building in 
Tenth street,'^ and there the college remains t<. the pre- 
sent day. The building has been lately remodeled, and 
the city has lost the picturesque Grecian front, but 
much space has been gained by the change. The nc w 
building contains two large lecture rooms, each capable 
of seating over six hundred students, and well-appointed 
laboratories of chemistry, experimental therapeutics, 
pathological histology and of physiology. In the last 
named are given demonstrations of the principal facts 
in experimrntal physiology and histology. A valua])le 
and rapidly growing museum is in the same building, 
and the dissecting rooms are large and convenient, 
being open from October to the middle of June. West 
of the main building lies the JetTerson College Hospital, 
separated from it by only a narrow passage-way. Five 
stories high and one hundred and seven feet sciuare, it 
is so planned as to easily accommodate ..ne hundred 
and twenty-five patients, and at the same time give 
ample space for both th(^ dispensary department and for 
the ampliitheatre, where daily clinics are held. In the 
past year it is stated that over one thousand surgical 
operations have been here performed. Two resident 
physicians, as well as several clinical assistants in 
the dispensary, are appointed annually from the most 
recent graduates of the college. 

The system of instruction is still that which has long 
been popular throughout this country-a non-graded 



388 A SYLVA]^ CITY. 

course of two wintor sessioni^, each of nearly six months' 
duration. An optional tluce years' course lias lately 
l)een introduced, with encouraging results, but no en- 
trance examination is required. Lectures from eight 
chairs are given, and, in addition to the demonstrations 
previously mentioned, there is required practical work in 
the chemical laboratory, while the graduating class, in 
sections of convenient size, practice in minor and ope- 
rative surgery and l)andaging, besides iustrucli()n in 
physical diagnosis. A spring course of lectures on spe- 
cial subjects is given, lasting nearly two months, and a 
preliminary course of three weeks in the fall. 

Active discussion still goes on as to the merits and 
demerits of a non-graded course, but no student will 
deny the difficulty of obtaining any satisfactory grasp of 
diagnosis, therapeutics and surgery with at most only a 
partial knowledge of anatomy and physiology. I"ndoul)t- 
edly aljle physicians are graduated upon the non-graded 
plan, for there is scarcely one of the prominent i)r:i('ti- 
tioners of this city whose studies were not i)ursued under 
this method. But it is an equally undoubted fact thnt 
the graduate whose studies have ])een followed in their 
logical sequence through a period of three years, (Mpial 
ability being conceded, is l)etter litted in the end to enter 
u])on the duties of his profession, and that both he and 
the public at large are the gainers by his increased ex- 
penditure of time and money. 

More than a decade has passed since :in urgent ai)peal 
was made by Dr. (Iross, one of the most honored names 




CLINIC HALL— WOMAN'S COLLEGE. 



MEDWA L ICl) L( A TION. 



in medical scicucc. for m hiiihor standard of education, 
ill an address uiveii Ik rore the alumni association t>l'tlii> 
college, at its first annivcrsay, March lltli, ISTI, in which 

he says : 

"The time of study sliould he increased to n.ur years, 
embracinj^- four courses of lectures of nine months eaeh. 
The examinations for the decree of Doctor of .Medicine 
should be conducted by a separate board, one entirely in- 
dependent of the school in which the student has attended 
lectures. A higher standard of preliminary ediu-atii.n 
should be demanded, and no applicant should be admitted 
unless he is a man of high culture and relinement ; or, 
in other words, a thorough gentleman, ambitious to uphold 
the honor and dignity of the profession." 

Thorough knowledge and training are certainly at the 
command of every student who chooses Philadelphia as 
his working ground, for within the limits of llu' city are 
thirteen general hospitals and fourteen for the tri'alnu'iit 
of special classes of diseases and injuries. In addition 
to these are four hospitals for lying-in and the diseases 
of women, and two for the diseases of children, with 
eight general and six special dispensaries. Valuable 
free clinical lectures are given in many of these institu- 
tions, and nearly all are accessible to the energetic 
student. 

The mere mention of the Woman's Medical College 
recalls the absolute fury of opposition eiiruuuiered, not 
only here, but at any point where the medical education 
of women was suggi'stcd. The pioneers in the new 
departure have lived to see many dreams lullilled. The 
movement has had the usual C(mrse, the story of any un- 



302 A SYLVAX f'TTY. 

familiar Irutli, scieutiru* or otherwise, havinu- Ikhmi tVom 
the fouiKlalion of the world the same. A'ioleut opposi- 
tion, often ending in death for the propoimders of the 
ohnoxious fact; an intermediate stage of partial assent ; 
a linal one in which the thing suddenly hecomes a part 
of the estahlished order of the universe, and it is denied 
that anyhody ever thought of denyhig. AVe have not 
gone as far as the little boy who was born and reared in 
a woman's hospital among women physicians. lie 
stood by a mantel in a friend's house, looking at a plas- 
ter group representing a doctor and his patient. After 
examining the doctor with a puzzled air, he turned to 
his mother, with a look of scornful astonishment, ex- 
claiming: ''Why, mother! it 's a man!" 

The educational bias in this case was a tritie one- 
sided, though perhaps none too much so when the 
weight of all opposing generations is taken into account. 

The Woman's Medical College of Pennsylvania was 
incorporated by the State Legislature on the 11th of 
]\rar('h, lsr)0, under the name of "The Female Medical 
College of Pennsylvania," and is the first institution 
ever chartered to grant to women the title of M.D. The 
first corporators of the college were William J. Mullen, 
Dr. Frederick A. Fickhardt, Dr. Henry Gibbons, Fer- 
dinand J. Dreer, Dr. William J. Birkey, P. P. Kane 
and John liOngstreth. 

The college was oi)encd for instruction the 2d of Octo- 
ber, ISoO, and its fn-st commi'ncement was held at the 
Musical Fund Hall, December ."lOth, 18:)1. From that 



MEDICAL EDUCATION. 393 

(lay to this the friends of the institution liave lahore*! 
for its success with an energy and zeal that an- rare ex- 
cept in the annals of the oppressed. It sulliTcd hoth 
from the apathy and the ridicule of tlie general [)uhlic 
and the distrust of the professional large, and, within it.> 
walls, from attempts to introduce heterodox teachings 
and from great poverty. One by one, through the un- 
flagging and disinterested labors of the faculty and cor- 
porators, these obstacles have been surmounted. While 
the college lacked money, its courses of instruction were 
given m a most unpretending building in tiie rear of 
229 Arch street. When contributions from generous 
friends were received — and in its early years the sehool 
was far from self-supporting — they were applied (uily to 
immediate practical needs ; and thus, though the insti- 
tution has felt poverty, it has never been burdened by 
debt. Its place is made, and to-day the Woman's 
Medical College and its hospital number among their 
lecturers and consultants some of the most prominent 
representatives of medical teaching in rhiladeli)hia. 

In 1868 the college received a large bequest through 
the will of the late Isaac Barton, by the aid of which 
the present building, on the corner of Xorth College 
avenue and Twenty-first street, was erected. The cor- 
ner-stone was laid October 1, 1874, by T. Morris Perot, 
" in the name of Woman and for Her Advancement in 
the Science and Practice of Medicine.'' 

The college is a handsome four-story brick Iniilding 
with a frontage of nearlv two hundred feet. Much care 



394 A SYLVAN CITY. 

was exercised in making its arrangements sul)si'rviinil 
to its special end, and numerous peculiarities, such as 
placing the lecture-rooms upon one floor, the easj- stairs, 
the cloak-room and toilet arrangements, and the care- 
fully screened windows, mark it as a ])uilding expressly 
adapted for the use of women. This college was the tirst 
to introduce the optional three years' course, and lias 
since made the attendance upon three graded winter 
sessions a requisite for graduation. The order of lec- 
tures and examinations and the conditions of gradua- 
tion are practically the same as those in the Universit}- 
of Pennsylvania, except that there are preliminary ex- 
aminations in chemistry, anatomy and physiology at 
the end of the first session and that there is at present 
no entrance examination. A weekly "quiz " upon each 
branch taught forms a part of the regular instruction 
and is free to every student. In addition to the didactic 
instruction, there are well-stocked laboratories of cliem- 
istry, physiology, pathology, histology and pharmacy, in 
each of which practical work is required. An iiui)or- 
tant extension of the session is found in the spring term, 
which, as the list shows, is attended by about seventy- 
five per cent of the entire number of studi'uts registered, 
and which is nearly equally divided between laboratory 
work, lectures, and instruction. 

In view of the fact that the practice of the graduates 
of this school is almost exclusively confined to female 
patients and children, its clinical facilities are excep- 
tionally good. The Woman's Hospital, where ovtT 



MEDICAL EDUCATION. 395 

four thousand patients are annually treated, is in the 
immediate neighborhood of the college, and its dispen- 
sary service and free bedside inst ruction are daily open 
to the advanced student. Several clinics weekly arc 
held here by members of the staft'; and clinical instruc- 
tion in the Philadelphia, Wills and ()rthop;cdic Hospi- 
tals, as well as in the Philadelphia J.ying-in Charity, is 
easily accessible. Four graduates are annually ap- 
pointed assistants to the resident physician in the Wo- 
man's Hospital, and the large out-practice of this 
institution is mainly under their charge. 

Xo notice of this school would be complete without 
the mention of two physicians, to whom it owes much 
of its present reputation. I refer to Mrs. E. H. Cleve- 
land and Ann Preston, both deceased. To very many 
Philadelphians their names are synonyms for profes- 
sional thoroughness and zeal, and their lives give con- 
clusive proof that there is no necessary incompatibility 
between the trained perceptions of the physician and 
surgeon and of all womanly gentleness and grace. 

A houKeopathic medical school, the Hahnemann Medi- 
cal College, is also located in this city, and Ijears the 
highest reputation among institutions of its class. 

In this paper reference to medical teachers now in 
active life has been purposely avoided. For the facts 
embodied, and for much valual)le information which 
might readily have escaped an unprofessional observer, 
the author is indebted to Dr. N. A. Randolph, of the 
University of Pennsylvania. 



THE BETTERING-HOUSE 

AND 

OTHER CHARITIES. 



According to the old gcogmphics, Pliihidelpliia used 
to be noted for "her market;?, her clean streets and lier 
charities." The markets still sustain their reputation, 
and let a Philadelphian go where he nuist when lie dies, 
he wishes to go home for his dinner. The streets speak 
for themselves, and what they say in dirt and cohhlr- 
stones is plain to every one; but oidy tlie tax-i)ayer 
knows what it costs to keep tlicni smelling so badly and 
so out of repair. 

The old geographies, however, knew little of the chari- 
ties of the city as they now exist. The Philadrli)hian is 
fond of classification and organization. If he has any- 
thing to do, he likes to make a little society for that spe- 
cific purpose, and to have the prosier ofiicers and a 
suitable number of meml)ers. After the organization is 
completed, a constitution adopted and printed in a neat 
little pamphlet, he is ready to go to work. In this way he 
multiplies societies for charitable as for all other pur- 
poses. For each misery and each misfortune the city has 
its separate relief. It has a home for old men and 
another for old women, and another still for married old 
397 



398 A SYLVAN CITY. 

men and women, and will yd, perhaps, discriminate be- 
tween the old man who is a baehelor and the one who is 
a widower. The woman who has a l)aby to take care of 
does not \xo to tlie refnge intended for the one whose 
child has reached the traveler's majority of fonr years ; 
and if slie has no child at all, she repairs to a third re- 
lief fund. There is a legacy left to the city for the 
l)urcha>e of wood for widows, and — as if to prove that 
no mi>t'oriune is without compensation— preference is 
given to those whose poverty is due to dissolute hus- 
bands. The applicant must herself be sober and honest, 
but the less her departed lord sliared in these virtues the 
better for her. The testator who made this provision 
went still further. Supposing in his innocence that the 
numV)er of candidates jiroiJcrly qualified might souie time 
fail, and so leave a balance un})rovideil for, he ordered 
that whatever was U-ft should be spent in warm clothing 
for the '' oldest and barest '' diseharged from tiie hospi- 
tal anil " J3ettering-IIouse/'' evidently having great com- 
passion for the wrecks in life. For the oppo>ile class — 
the people who mean to help themselves — Benjamin 
Franklin and John Seott, of Edinburg, made provision. 
Each of these energetic men left .?.")0()() for a fund to be 
used in loans to young married arlilicers who Avero 
qualilied for acceptance by certain conditions. 

On the twenty-third of February the city keeps the 
birthday of John Scott by giving twelve dollars' worth 
of bread to the needy, but never more than two loaves 
to one family. 




PENNSYLVANIA HOSPITAL WITHIN THE GATES. 



THE BETTERTNG-IIOUSE. 401 

This minute classiliciition mukcs ivlicf easy for those 
who have mastered the art of dividing goats and sheep 
at a glance, but it complicates the work of the histo- 
rian. Who can tell the story of the charities of any 
great city, and who can do justice to the energy and 
the goodness that originates and keeps them all at 
work ? 

The founders of Philadelphia made no provision for 
such a host of charities. They fancied that in sueh a 
fair and fertile land no one need sufier who eould work, 
and there would always be help for the siek and aged, 
and support for the young. Emigrants themselves, 
they did not foresee what emigration Avas to mean in 
after days, and certainly no one of them expected pau- 
pers to come of their own line. 

Still it was not very long before organized help was 
needed, but it came in a shape that tells what Old 
Philadelphia meant by "charity." An ancient Quaker 
tailor, John Martin, dying in 1702, twenty years after 
the city was founded, left a lot of ground between Third 
and Fourth and Spruce and Walnut Streets, to three of 
his friends, lie said nothing in his will of the purpose 
to which it was to be devoted, but his honest old cronies 
evidently understood, and they at once built a long, 
quaint house on the Walnut Street front, opening south- 
ward, however, on the green field. The Monthly Meet- 
ing took charge of the place, and here sent certain of 
the poorer members who needed help. After a time 
they built little one-storied cottages, with a garret in 



403 A SYLVAN CITY. 

each steep roof, and with a great chimney outside. 
These were ranged in order on either side of a green 
lane ; each had its Uttle garden, and here bloomed fruit, 
trees and flowers. None of the people who lived 
here were paupers. Some had a little money, and all 
worked Avho could. Two or three old women had little 
schools, and another — because of the natural law that 
forces a river to run by a city, and builds a school near 
a confectioner — made molasses candy. A watchmaker 
hung some forlorn old turnip time-i)ieces in one of the 
AValnut Street windows, and the herbs raised in the 
gardens had a virtue peculiar to themselves. 

As the city grew around them this small village be- 
came greener and sweeter. Little by little high brick 
houses arose around it ; the streets leading thither were 
all paved, and the city beat about it as an ocean about 
a lagoon. The only entrance was now up a little alley- 
way, and he who strayed in there unknowing what he 
would (hid nnist have rubbed his eyes and fancied him- 
self bewitched. He came out of noise and trafiic, from 
l)ustle and lousiness, and suddenly everything was still; 
the air was tilled with the perfume of roses, bees were 
luunming, old men were sitting smoking their pipes 
under grape arbors, and old (Quaker ladies were bending 
over beds of sweet marjoram and lavender. To awake 
and fmd one's self at the gates of Damascus was com- 
monplace to this. 

If the stranger was fond of Longfellow he stood still, 
ami he smiled, because he knew the place at once, and 
he would gently murmur : 



THE BETTERTNG-ITOUSE. 403 

"Then in the suburbs it ..tood. in tln' midst of niradows 

and woodlands ; 
Now the city surrounds it ; but still with its gateway and 

wieket. 
Meek in the midst of siilendor, its humble walls seem to 

echo 
Softly the words of the Lord, 'The poor ye have always 

with you.' " 

Then would one of those peaceful old men arise, and 
he too WM)uld smile, because he too knew, and he would 
show the stranger the little vine-covered house to which 
Clabriel was taken, and then the place where he was 
buried. " It was all true,'' he said, " and Henry Long- 
felloAv did but put it into verse." The stranger found 
it good to be there. Few pilgrimages rewarded so well, 
because this asked nothing of imagination ; and before 
he left he took an ivy leaf from the house — he bought 
rosemary for a remembrance. If he was an artist he 
made a sketch of the place, and if he was a writer he 
published a description of it. 

Every one who knew "Evangeline" knew of the 
"Ohl Quaker Almshouse" in Philadelphia, and the 
story not only gave the inmates a certain importance in 
their own and others' eyes, but it added many a thrifty 
penny to their income. But what proof this i)rctty 
tale gave of an imaginative memory ! These clear-eyed 
old people knew perfectly widl that a fever-stricken pa- 
tient never was and never would have been taki'U into 
their asvlum. They knew KvangeluK* never crossed 
their little yard nor entered then- wicket, and that there 



404 A SYLVAN CTTY. 



was no grave sacred to the waiulercr's memory in their 
inclosnre. They knew all about the " J^etterinu-IIouse," 
onoe np Spruce Street a few blocks away, and about the 
fever i)atients there, and the nuns who nursed them ; it 
had also once stood in the midst of meadows ; but when 
the iiilgrims came looking for the true ^lecca, ludiold 
it was all destroyed and built up as a city in l^ricks and 
cobble-stones ; and then the old Quakers, leaning over 
their wicket, beckoned the seekers away to a harmless 
delusion. 

If these thrifty people had only known it, nothing 
eovild have been more quaint than their own life, and, 
in a wa}', it had its own poetry, and needed little help 
from imagination. There was one woman who went in 
a child of eight and stayed until she died at eighty-four, 
and she must have known about as much of the Avorld 
she left as could l)e revealed to an observant and caged 
canary. They had their ghost and their strange noises, 
and when the last house was torn down a skull was 
turned up from the mould, and that exi)huned nuuh, il 
it did not tell its own story. They had their traditicms, 
and as house after house was taken away and the city 
steadily stole in, they told stories of the times \\\\v\\ 
''AValnut Place "" was in its glory, and had its aristoc- 
racy and a drab-colored brilliancy. Then, at la>t, the 
one remaining house was torn down, the last ntse-bush 
rooted up, and a few exiles, turning awuy. went into a 
greater solitude in going into the crowded, noisy town. 

This idea of a rural workhouse, which was not to be a 



ffHMt 








THE BETTERTNO-nOUSE. 407 



mere almshouse, runs tlirough the early history of Phila- 
delphia. The people had no idea of maintainini,^ pau- 
pers, and when tiiey found it was a possibility they 
determined to make pauperism ii disgrace. In 1718 the 
man who chose to exist on puljlic charity had to also 
accept a penalty, and, with each member of his family, 
he was obliged to w^ear on his right sleeve a badge made 
of red or blue cloth, on which was a great "P," and 
the initial letter of the district giving him relief. It 
was not pleasant to be a pauper in old IMiiladelphia. 
To be poor was another matter, and a man could keep 
his self-respect and his neighbors' esteem if he earned 
what he ate, but it required courage to take public alms. 
But plenty of the thriftless had this courage of their 
laziness, and there were also sick people and helpless 
old men and women. Still the citizen was taken care 
of by his neighbors, and sick strangers were lodged 
in empty houses ; but as the population increased the 
almshouse was needed, and so in 17^51 it was founded. 
A lot of ground between Spruce and Pine and Third 
and Fourth, just below the Quaker Almshouse, and in 
view of the new church of St. Peter's, on Society Hill, 
was chosen. On Spruce Street there was a gateway, 
but whoever came over the meadow from Third went in 
by an X stile. Here were lodged the poor, the sick and 
the insane, and the common misfortune of poverty put 
them on an equality even of treatment. After a time 
it w^as seen that the sick must have separate accommo- 
dations, and the arrangements made for them— which 



408 A SYLVAN CITY. 



Hkel}' enough amounted to little more tlian a sick ward, 
taking in '' accidents," and under the charge of vi.siting 
physicians — have a historical interest, as the}' resulted 
in the founding of the first hospital in the colonies. It 
afterward was removed to High Street, near Fifth, and 
soon it appears to have ceased being a municipal charity. 
Then, as constantly happened with public institutions 
in those days, the Almshouse was no sooner well estab- 
lished than it had to be moved. Penn had a prophetic 
knowledge of the possible extent of his city, but as it 
grew the centre of l)usine><s was necessarily constantly 
pushing westward, and also southward, and so all pri- 
vate and charitable interests had to yield and go still 
further out. The ground at Tiiinl iuid Phie became 
valuable, and the Almshouse had to go to the country. 
It was now under the charge of a private corporation 
'' For the Relief and Employment of the Poor," and it 
bought a large tract of land on the same line between 
Spruce and Pine, but about Ninth. Here was a good 
orchard, fine forest trees, and plenty of ground for a 
small fai-m. They built a sutllciently commodious house 
in the midst of tlu' meadows, over which ran narrow 
f(^ot-paths. and the place had soon the air of a public 
institution. There was a steward and a matron, out- 
door agi'uts and some resident physicians. It was really 
a great comfort to many of the appreciative people who 
liked a '• IJettcring-IIouse'" to Justify its title, and so 
they crowded in, and had the best they could get. 
There was a main building and two wings. In the first. 



THK BETTERTNO-HOUSE. 409 



there was on the lower floor the offices ; on the second 

the sU'Wiird, or governor, and thi- doctors were accoin- 
niodated ; then on the next rtoor canu' the sick, and on 
the fonrth the insane, and next the roof another class of 
sick. The panpers were in the wings — the wonim in 
one, the men in the other. The cliihh'en wtn- sent to 
the " Yellow Cottage," down in that })art of the city 
known as ''The Neck." All seems to have gone 
smoothly nntil ahont the close of the Hevohition. when 
the corporation failed, and that historical i>ody, " The 
Gnardians of the Poor,"" took its place, and entered 
upon its prerogative of making the paui)er a stipi)iiig- 
stone to higher things for itself. 

From this time the charities of the city hegan to 
multiply. After the war there was an undercurrent of 
misery, sickness and poverty to he relieved. The old 
neighhorhood feeling had disappeared in the changes 
and increase of population, and after ISOU the innnigra- 
tion of people who had to he taken care of until they 
found occupation became a declared burden. Peo]ile 
gave here and there, and all sorts of hcMpiests wen- made 
to the public charities. Some testators })rovided for soup, 
and some for bread, but more for fuel. It became al- 
most as comfortable out of the ''Bettering-IIouse" as 
in it, If only the needy person was ingenious enough to 
hold the proper threads in his hand. His support wjis 
made easier by the division of the pres<uit city into 
districts. The pauper who preferred out-door relief to 
the conditions imposed at the "Bettering-House" got 



410 A SYLVAN CITY. 

his soup in the city and carried it home ; then lie took 
a Httle walk to Southwark and asked for his bread, or- 
dered his wood in tiie Northern Liberties, and probably 
had a coat or a wig given to him as he went home. The 
only difficulty he had arose from the constant increase 
in his class, so that by-and-by the beggars interfered 
with each other, and none of them liked it. Then there 
came another trouble. The mendicants began to educate 
their patrons, and this was a serious evil, and never in- 
tended by them. The people who gave found that no 
one seemed any better for it all. They themselves cer- 
tainly were not, because constant failures disheartened 
and irritated them. Give and do what they would, they 
never got the better of poverty, and their ahns, their 
legacies, all seemed like dragon seed, and only brought 
forth a large and undesirable crop of greater evils. 
They were forever multiplying relief by beggars, and 
finding the result destitution. 

In 1831 came a hard, terrible winter of storms and 
bitter cold, and in 183'2 the cholera. During these years 
the charitable had to work, and had to give, but they 
also thought. They were benevolent, but that did not 
also necessitate their being stupid; and our molhcis 
and fathers puzzled over evils which we have fancied 
peculiar to our own day, and decided upon the 'same 
remedies. 

There was one good woman, Mrs. Esther Moore, a 
Public Friend, who thought seriously on these matters. 
She remembered the days when each one knew his 



:#'%,i 







THE BETTERiya-lIOi'SE. 413 



neii^'hbor's needs, and she felt that tlir thing to do was to 
rcsloiT UL'iuhborhood relations. The rich, slu- Ihrm^^ht, 
ought to educate the poor, and teach them nuiny lhin<,'s 
they did not know in the way of thrift, of industry, of 
clcanUness and independence. It was not always tlio 
fault of the poor when they were paupers, and she be- 
lieved in education as well as regeneration. 

Like most women, she did not theorize on the ques- 
tion that interested her, but began to experiment. She 
selected four blocks down town in a neighborhood 
where the classes were mixed, and she set to work 
to make the personal acquaintance of each one living 
there. Her next step was to make the poor known 
to the better off, and to persuade the latter to each 
take a certain number under their care. The poor 
were not only to be helped to work, but they were 
to be shown better and more thrifty ways. Their 
homes were to l)e made cleaner and more comfortable ; 
the children were to be sent to school. The real charity 
was to be given in constant inthience and supervision. 
She persuaded women to help her and men to give her 
money ; and, by good fortune, just at that moment there 
came to Philadelphia a young man named David Xas- 
mith, who was from Glasgow, and full of Dr. Chalmers' 
plans for remedying pauperism. He had become so in- 
terested in these methods, and so fully persuadid that 
they embodied the only cure for dependent poverty, 
that he had given up his business and had set out to 
travel through the Christian world and preach this new 



414 A SYLVAN CITY. 



gospel of help. In Philadelphia there was no obstacle 
to immediate experiment, and he and Mrs. Moore fell 
into harness together with a hearty good will, and took 
the parts of Paul and ApoUos with instant resnlts. 
They called a meeting in a parlor, and seven were there, 
four men and three women. Then, in April, IS.'U, they 
resolved to call a public meeting at the Franklin Insti- 
tute and see what would come of it. 

What did come of it was '' The Union Benevolent 
Association," which is still actively in the field, and as 
representative of the merits and also the failures in 
Philadelphia charities as any society could be. 

It was founded on Dr. Chalmers' plans, and has very 
much the same system as the younger " Society for Or- 
ganizing Charities." It recognizes neither color, nation 
nor sect. It has a board of managers, who are men, and 
a "Ladies' Branch," where are found the visitors and 
most active of the workers in the administration of 
charity. The city south of Crirard Avenue and north of 
South Street, and from river to river, is divided into dis- 
tricts, each having its own officers and visitors — all wo- 
men. These report once a month to the ladies' board 
of managers, and this, in turn, to the men's. In the 
lifty-one years of its existence this Association lias given 
over a million oT dollars, a iuuidred thousand tons of 
coal and coke and a i)roportionate amount of clothing, 
food and every other kind of help. This ri'cord is Ihe 
more remarkable hecaux' the Association was not orga- 
nized as an ahn>-giviug society. In iS.'Jl the conililion 



THE BETTERIXG-HOUSE. 415 

of affairs was very similar to that in existence now. 
The poor were thriftless and niinicrous ; (Iutc were all 
sorts of societies, working independently and without 
knowledjL^e of each <>therV pensioner. There was then 
no Central l^ureau, and the nni)o>ter who was deteete<l 
l)y one society lightly laughed and ai)plie(l to another. 
''The Union Benevolent '' meant to l)e Just what the 
•'•Organized Charity" now aims for. It wished to 
unite the existing charities, and to educate V)oth the 
alms-giver and the alms-taker in the best methods of de- 
stroying pauperism. But the needs of the poor have 
been pressed on the visitors, and a great i)ortion of the 
work has been simply relief and assistance. In this 
wa}^ it has fallen into routine methods, and at last be- 
came little more than the most influential and best 
managed of the alms-giving societies. Yet it was, even 
in those years, wise and discreet in its charities. It 
was impossible that it should have had the women 
whose names run year after year on its records, and not 
have been of permanent value. It had a store for the 
sale of clothing, where a monthly average of thirty-four 
women have found constant employment in sewing, and 
many a child owes its nurture and education to its 
mother's regular earnings there. It is conducted on the 
most quiet and non-competitive system, yet last year its 
business amounted to nearly four thousand dollars, and 
over three thousand were paid to sewing women and em- 
ployes. In the way of i)ractical charity only the poor 
can tell the tale. How many hundreds of sick have 



416 A SYLVAN CITY. 

been supported, how many dead buried, how many chil- 
dren provided ibr, not even the reeords show. Here 
was the fatherless boy sent to Girard College, and there 
the girl given a home in the eountrv. If the house of a 
seamstress was too forlorn to attract customers, she was 
told to scrub and clean, and then a little cheap matting, 
a few whole chairs, transformed the place ; patrons were 
interested, and the woman's name vanished from the 
charity lists. Boys were set up in business as boot- 
blacks or newspaper boys. It only cost a little money 
to get the start, and he made "the plant," and then 
there was bread at home even if there was no butter. 

One of the best known and characteristic of this Asso- 
ciation's charities is the "stove." What visitor of the 
poor does not know the " U. B.'' stove, and what second- 
hand dealer would dare to sell one I lie could take a 
diamond from a crown and manage to palm it oft' and 
get his price for it. but the comical little stove that was 
invented for the society when anthracite coal lirsl came 
into use, and which will bake and boil and make a 
room warm and cheery, has a i)ersonality that cannot 
be disguised, and none of the people to whom they are 
loaned would dare to sell them, even if any would dare 
to buy one. Two hundred and twenty-four of these 
were loaned last year from the fall to the spring. 

The men who make up the Executive Board, and 
who are alwiiys well-known citizens, have l)ronght the 
Association to (he IVont on m:»ny (iiieslion> pertinent 
to its objects. It has pi'litioned the Legislature on 



THE BETTERING-HOUSE. 



417 



matters of temperance and the license laws, and on false 

weights. It lonu; auo (Icnounccd llic misuse of |ml)lic 
funds by the (niardians of tlic Poor, and has iusliuch'd 
both the employer and his working people on various 




THE " U. B." STOVE. 

moral and legal questions. It has kept in its office a 
register for children : and down in the cellar it has— as 
a prudent Josej)!! iiichar-c of the i)e(>pU' should— stoned 
vegetables and Hour a.uaiu>l the day> of winter famine 
and high prices. When the snow comes, the man who 



418 A SYLVAN CITY. 

wants to earn an honest, if a cold penny, goes there 
and borrows one of its snow-shovels, and many a ped- 
dler has had the loan of money enough to start in 
business willi a well-stocked l)asket ; while the woman 
who had sewing, but no needle or cotton, went and had 
her wants supplied. These practical little charities in 
the way of housekeeping for the poor are the result of a 
long experience, and the Association, fighting poverty 
for so many years, has learned that the summer ought 
to provide for the winter, and the day of plenty for 
famhie. That it is one of the institutions in which 
Phila(k'li)hians have confidence is proved by the fact 
that they are apt to remember it in their wills. 

A1)out the time the Union Benevolent was formed, 
and its founders were discussing remedies for pauper- 
ism, the Guardians of the Poor, who were forced to 
accept the pauper as he was, were as busy determining 
how they could take better care of liim. Tlie Bettcring- 
House, on Spruce street, had had many experiences, 
and the "cholera year" had proved its want of ca- 
pacity. The pestilence had raged there in a terrilic 
manner, and eotlins were kept i)iled in the yard n'a<ly 
for use. The man who died after breakfast was buried 
before dinner, and sometimes there was not a nurse to 
l)e had. The Sisters of Cbarity came in and took charge 
for some weeks, and l)y tliem many a poor lieretic was 
bai)tized before he died, and so his road through pur- 
gatory made more easy. Tiie distress and loss of 
occupation resulting from tbis pestilence brought great 









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; 



1.'..^:^ 



// 






5-i»>- 



'■'^»t\v 'T 



^&^ 



Ik' ' ^ 




THE BETTERIXO-norSE. 421 



numbers to the house, and the wards were crowded. 
Little by little the ground had been m)1i1, >(> that the 
farm was gone, the forest trees cut down, and oidy the 
garden left. The people wlio built on the streets which 
had succeeded the foot-paths over the meadows grum- 
bled because of their pau])er neighbors, ami the (Guar- 
dians at last determined to build and move. 

This new enterprise was, however, to he linal : and so, 
to secure a site beyond city encroaclunents, they se- 
lected a large lot of ground across the Schuylkill lliver, 
and on its banks, and there they l)uilt the ideal Alms- 
house. It was to be a great credit to the city, and the 
pauper must have regarded it with admiring interest. 
Here was something that wisely accei)ted things as they 
were. The pauper was not to be abolished, but made 
comfortable, and this was what ought to be expected of 
a paternal government, and they probal)ly api)roved of 
their new quarters when they were moved over, in the 
summer of 1835, four thousand in nundjer, in wagons, 
in furniture cars, and all sorts of vehicles. It must have 
])een a motley procession, and no '^ Centeuuial '" is likely 
to reproduce it. The insane were tied and chained ; 
the women were stowed away as well as possible, and 
many a sturdy fellow must have trami)ed over on foot, 
reasonably eager to see his new house. They crossed 
the river by the South Street ferry, the insane leading 
the way ; and, except Charon, what boatman ever car- 
ried such a crew ! Once in " Blockley " they were 
housed in the spacious wards, and the work of regen- 



422 A SYLVAN CITY. 

eration soon began. The officials in the Ahnshouse 
confronted the administration of pauperism, and thnc 
was httle theory about this. It was all practice, and 
some experiment. There was nothing easy but the 
admission of the inmates. Inside the stone walls 
was a little city tilled with degradation, with distress, 
with all that was helpless and forlorn. Over it all was 
the governor, or " steward ;"' and upon his wisdom and 
faithfulness the whole administration depended. The 
condition of most public institutions and asylums was 
at this time simply frightful. Elizabeth Fry and Doro- 
thea I)ix had drawn public attention in England and 
the United States to the hardships and abuses existing 
in such institutions, but the pressure of public opinion 
penetrated few of the walls, and everything depended 
on the character of the men in actual charge. The 
great misfortune lay, of course, in the fact that the 
abuses, neglects and tyrannies naturally fell on the most 
helpless. There was little expectation of curing the in- 
sane, and if they could be kept quiet and out of the 
way it was well enough. If they were too violent, a 
straight-jacket, a chain, a lancet or a shower-bath sub- 
dued them, and visitors were sometimes taken to the 
cells to see them sitting alone, beating the floor, tearing 
their clothes, or waiting in wicked, sullen insubordina- 
tion for a chance for revenge. If they recovered their 
senses it was in spite of their treatment, and never be- 
cause of it. In the Spruce Street "Bettering-llouse " 
women who either could not or would not work were 



THE BETrKRTXG-lIOUSE. 



433 



put on tlic treadmill, and if one was too ohstituite or too 
weak to raise licr lout in time to take each step as it 
came down she was struck and bruised on the in>tep ; 
but that was her own lookout. 

In the old houst' many evils existed in eon^equenee of 
















'mmm 



-^ \. 



IX THE SLUMS. 

the crowded, ineonvenient condition of atTairs, but this 
new (me gave room for much reform. And it was mtide. 
The men were set to work in the quarries and on the 
farm, and the women knitted stockings for the house 
and sewed. The treadmill was not allowed to emiirrate 



424 A SYLVAN CITY. 

from ^^priu-c Slivct, and Ihc showt'r-l)atli was al)()lislu'd, 
cxocpt when it was ordered by tlu' doctors, who liad 
faith in it as a curative remedy. The well were no 
longer bled nor cui)i)ed, the insane were visited, and 
every litth* while some one who showed gleams of rea- 
son would be l)rought from the cells into the ''Main 
Building,"' clothed and set at some congenial work, and 
the experiment often ended in the fmal discharge of the 
cured patient. There was great faith at that time, in 
this institution, in the beneficial. eftect of interesting 
emi)loyment and the absence of irritating surroundings ; 
and so it hai)pened more than once that men who had 
been chained as violent maniacs became excidlent gar- 
deners, industrious and trustworthy mechanics. Women 
who had been dressed in one garment made of coflee- 
sa(tks, because they tore their clothes nj), and who 
cursed every one who came near them, were converted 
into seamstresses and even nurses to tenderly-nurtured 
children. There was a new classification in the wards 
in many ways, and the whole administration was clean, 
honest and intelligent. 

The (iuardians found all of this exceedingly interest- 
ing. It was true they did little of the work, but it 
needed constant sujH'rvi^ion, and so once a week they 
came drivinu' over in hired carriages to attend to that 
department. Naturally enough the long ride and river 
air gave tlieui ai)petites, and this was the tinu- to test 
the Philadelphia markets! In ls:)2 it cost Sl.'M l>er 
week to feed a Philadel})hia pauper, lait where are the 



THE BETTEEING-HOUSE. 405 



statistics to show what it cost fifteen years ])efore to 
feed their (iuardiansV Tlu-y tried to save ti»e fccliui^s 
of taxpayers by liaving a liothouse, where fruit > and 
flowers could l)e raised without appearing as an item in 
the hills, hut there were other expenses whicli, tiny 
felt, were made too conspicuous. They could see no 
reason why wine should not he put among "Medical 
Supplies;" and as mutton can he converted into veni- 
son, they thought the process should be reversed. It 
annoyed the hungry supervisors to have a si)ade called 
a spade in the steward's account, and whenever this was 
printed their opinion of hi> administration went down 
to zero. They sometimes had to explain to taxpayers 
about the time required for the visits and tiie distance, 
and give no end of other good reasons for their dinners 
and other expenses, and they did not like it at all wlu'U 
the taxpayer at last rebelled, and the cakes and ale and 
early strawberries all came to an end and there was no 
more feasting. It became more difficult to get a (luorum, 
and when the managers met around a table decorated 
with paper, pens and ink, instead of good old Port and 
lobsters, what wonder they had their own feelings to- 
ward any one who would tell the public how he spent 
its money, and how deeply they came to feel that he 
was not the man for the place ! 

This story of extravagance and waste has run on 
year after year, sometimes checked for a little while, 
and then worse than before, until now it has cliniaxed 
in an exposure that has proved that it has not been the 



426 A STLVA.V CITY. 

pauper who has bocn coi-niptod and ruined by pubhc 
charity, but the men who were intrusted with its 
administration. 

The moral of these disclosures is very simple. It is 
not that the public officials should be honest and content 
with their legitimate earnings, but more than this — that 
the voting taxpayer should look after his public house- 
keeping, and not be quite so much afraid to ask his em- 
ployes for bills and receipts, lie trusts them to spend his 
money, but until he is forced to do so he has great deli- 
cacy in asking how they spent it. If his wife conducted 
his home on this principle, he would have a very de- 
cided opinion of her capacity, and she — she would prob- 
ably long for the repose of the river Bagdad. 

The story of the '' Bettering-IIouse" tells the story of 
much municipal charity in Philadelphia. There has 
been nothing niggardly in the appropriations, and the 
city has given to its ])oor a siKuious, good home, and a 
liberal income for its supi^orl. The result has been the 
encouragement of pau})erism. the defrauding (»!' the 
poor, and the corruption of pul)ll(' otfuHM-s. Whetlier 
the day will come when the Alni-house will be abolished. 
and Homes for the helpless, witli Hospitals for the sick. 
take its place, is beyond prophecy. l)ut one of the 
healthful signs of progress lies in the tact that the work 
of the " Society for Organizing Charity" has enaliled 
the city to abolish out-relief, and so save thousands of 
dollars annually. 

Chie of the lirst of the Homes in riuladelphia— cer- 




•ICTLKEJ^QLE PAUPERS. 



rilE BETTEniXG-IKH'SE. 429 

tainly one of the mo.st iiule pendent and niauniificenl— 
was founded in 1772 by the will of Dr. John Krar>lcy. 
and ealled by him ''Chrif^t C'hureh Hospital."" Xo one 
ean know better than the physieian how forlorn is the 
position of a dependent, siek, or aged Prott'>tant woman. 
She has no convent to which she can g<> for rcfiii:"'. and 
she too often tinds her claims on kindred or gratitude 
but ropes of sand. She is not always the kind of per- 
son who adds to the happiness or comfort of a family. 
She is apt to be queer, and has to be ''considered T' she 
is little help, and plays the part of a lifth-wheel among 
active people. Still she is not the happier because she 
is useless, but she is the more to be pitied. Dr. Kears- 
ley no doubt had many such Jinchorless wrecks among 
his patients. He was an Englishman Ity birth, and canic 
to Philadelphia in 1711. He was always a busy and 
conspicuous character ; he practiced medicine ; he inter- 
ested himself in architecture— and whoever would see 
what he did can look at Christ Church and Indei)en- 
dence Hall — and he was a member of the House of As- 
seml)ly and an enthusiastic churchman. The people 
hkedhis speeches >o well that they would catch him up 
as he came out of the Assembly and carry him home on 
their shoulders, and the churchmen presented him with 
a piece of plate worth lifty pounds to testily to their 
appreciation of the energy with which he had, again>t 
discouragement of all kinds, persevered until Christ 
Church was rel)uilt. The vestry had found it easy to 
resolve that the little church should Ik" enlarged and a 



430 .1 SYLVAX CITY. 

foundation for a steeple laid, but they had no money, 
nor did they take steps to get any. Then Dr. Kearsley 
oflered to advance what was needed until subscriptions 
could be raised, and thus enabled them to begin the 
Avork at once. In after years he opened the subscrip- 
tion for the chimes, and was always the friend in need 
where the church was concerned. When he died, he 
left his property to Christ and St. Peter's Churches for 
the maintenance of at least '' ten poor and distressed 
women of the communion of the Church of England.'' 
Dr. Kearsley died in 1772, and in 17S9 Joseph Dobbins 
gave to the same charity five hundred pounds and two 
lots of ground ; and then at his death, in 1804, increased 
the legacy by devising to its hospital all the remainder 
of his property. 

The two benefactors probably fancied the valuable 
portion of their legacies was the money portion, but 
the Doctor's land lay in such locations as Front and 
Market, and Arch above Third, and the ground called 
"Lot Xo. 4 from Schuylkiir' l)y Mr. Dobbins, was be- 
tween Eighteenth and Nineteenth and Spruce and Pine. 
Such property came to l)o a sj^leiidid bequest, and the 
"Lot No. 4" alone, after lying idle and forlorn for 
seventy years, sold for one hundred and eighty thou- 
sand dollars. The revenues have been managed by 
prudent business men, and the hospital has always kept 
within its means, has never been in debt, and never had 
to solicit assistance. In its early days it occupied a 
small two-story house on the Arch street property, and 



THE BETTERING-HOUSE. 4:^1 



accommodated eight ladies, who knitted and sewed, and 
on Sunday went down the street to Christ Church to 
service, and on week-days took little runs out to see 
their friends. Of course they were thankful, and of 
course they grumhled and gave suttieient occupation to 
the three vestrymen from each church who were in 
charge of the charity. Then there came more api)li- 
cants, and the house was torn down and a larger one 
built. In time this also became too small, and so a 
still more spacious building was erected on the same 
lot, but fronting on Cherry Street. Here forty old ladies 
could be accommodated, but sometimes two had to share 
a room, and the matron, as referee, seems sometimes 
to have had reason to regret the arrangement. 

By 1856 the hospital had an annual income of over 
nineteen thousand dollars, and so the managers deter- 
mined to l)uild again. They bought a farm of over two 
hundred acres of Jesse George, near the West Park, and 
built the present home. It would acconnnodate one hun- 
dred inmates, ]jut the income, which has sutlcred from 
shrinkage of values, supports only forty at i)rescnt. It 
might be suggested to good churchmen— for with this 
work the women have had nothing to do except as pen- 
sioners—that every dollar given here would go directly 
to the support of additional inmates, as all the running 
expenses are already secured. 

One of the most pleasant features in this place is the 
prevalence of family life. It has happened that the 
managers have several times been able to take mothers 



432 A STZVAN CITY. 

and daughters, .sisters and other near relations ; so that 
link' homes are set all through the great huilding, and 
there is a completeness and content preserved that is 
not possible when charity breaks all famih' ties. These 
Ijeneliciaries have many comforts not common in all such 
institutions, some of Avhich they owe to ther rural situa- 
tion, and others to the thoughtfulness of the managers. 
The leading magazines are taken, there are daily paj^ers 
and a lil)rary. On Sunday and week-days service is 
held in the beautiful chapel, which is in one wing, and 
so arranged that any one too feeble to go down 
stairs can enter the gallery from the second lloor 
and worship there. The wIkjIc building is fire-proof. 
They have a farmer, and fresh vegetables, cows and 
chickens ; and many a worse lot falls to poverty-stricken 
human beings than that of being "a poor and dis- 
tressed woman of the communion of the Church of 
England," if this condition leads to a home at Christ 
Church Hospital. In spite of all their worries, the good 
ladies, who, as Protestants, cannot pray for the repose 
of the souls of their two benefactors, must yet follow 
thcni witli many traiuiuil. ha})i)y thoughts. 

This, as we have said, is a man's charity, founded and 
governed l)y men, and it justifies their best opinion of 
their own management. 

The •• Home for Incurables " belongs to women, and 
although they have an " Advisory Board " of men, 
tlie members of it consider a better title would be 
an ''Indorsing Board,'' as all they do is to o1)ey 



THE 7;A'7"y7;A7.v^-y/^>rN/';. 



4 '.'.5 



.hi 



orders. It was foimded on a legacy of one lilth- 
dc.lhir. There was in West Pliiladelphia a v<mu- 
1 who had been contined to her bed from . arlv 



rhildliood, and she, often thhikhi- of those wh.» sulVrnd 
as much l)ul were not cared for as she was, longed to 
make them as comfortable. She nsed to talk to her 
mother abont a home for incurables, and one day when 
a gold dollar was given her she said it could be put 
away as the foundation for a fund for such a home. It 
was a hght enough fancy on her part, but it became an 
inspiration. After the girl died the money was remem- 
bered, and her mother and her friends determined to see 
her wish carried out. It was easy enough to arouse m- 
terest, as every one knew the need of such an mst.tu- 
tion In the hospitals established for curative purposes 
there was no room for patients pronounced beyoud help, 
and even at the Almshouse the transieut pauper was 
preferred to the permanent patient. Every one knew 
of helpless sick who were sulVering in poverty, or sup- 
ported by hard exertion or grudging charity. There was 
need enough that the little gold dollar should be put to 
use The women who were interested went to work 
determined to succeed. They held fairs and sohc.ted 
subscriptions. Those of then, who .ould. gave n.oney. 
and all worked; and in 1S77 they had raised enough 
money to authorize then, in opening a home out on the 

Darby Koad. 

At the ,.n,l of the year they had rfxt.on pat.ents an.l 
a leuglhouing li.t of am-licunis. There were people u. 



436 A SYLVAX CITY. 

all stai^cs of disease, and witli every shape of it. asking 
for admission, 1ml the manaucrs had not (»iily to limit 
the nuniher admitted, hnt tlicv had to exclude all 
diseases not easil}- managed in their huilding. A hos- 
pital for such uses demands peculiar accommodations 
and ai)})liances, and the next step was to huild one. So, 
then, this was accomplished. Men gave money to huy 
ground and women endowed heds. and the managers 
took care that as their mortar hardened nodcht hardi-ned 
with it. They had not money enough to huild as large 
a house as they needed, hut the ])lans provided for ex- 
tensions, and there is ground enough. The house really 
looks like a home, and a very heautiful one. It is well 
arranged, and no detail of comfort or convcuituce has 
been neglected, and the result would have delightt-d aud 
Astonished the owuer of the little gold dollar. 

Because the huilding is 5'^et too small, and the uian- 
agers are not willing to hinder their work hy a de)>t, 
they have still to turn away hundreds of :ip]tlieants. 
They have no wards for men nor children, and can take 
no one suflering from consnmi>tion, epilepsy or cancer. 
The only vacancies are made hy death. 

These are a tew of the charities of Philadeli)hia. They 
represent muni<ipal relief and its abuses; out-door re- 
lief and its methods; a church home and a hospital. 
Each came because it was needed, and each desejves 
attention. 



THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS. 



"Upon his entree into Boston society the stranger is 
met with the query, impUed if not spoken. ' Wiiat do 
yon know ? -into New York society witli, ' Wluil arc 
yon worth V -and into Philadelphia society with, ' Wlio 
was your orandfather T " The journalist who let slip 
from his pen this familiar criticism, epigrammatic if not 
axiomatic, was something of a cosmopolitan ; and that 
fine old master of sententious Saxon, slightly American- 
ized Dr. Holmes, has indulged in a hit of witticism 
equally as pungent in referring to the Quaker City as 
"the genealogical centre of the United States.'' 

Those Phihxdelphians "to the manner horn'' who 
claim the ancestral distinguishmeut for the placid 
iHU-h of their nativity hy way of explanation and 
eorrohoration, cite the fact that, while the intrepid 
Puritans who landed from the MaiLlhvrr at l>lym..uth 
Rock had come from the lowlier walks of lite, and tliat 
while the sturdy Teutons who, under the guidance of 
the explorer Hudson, disemharked upon Manhattan 
Island had also occupied luimhle estates in the father- 
land, yet the Quaker compeers of the founder of Penn- 
sylvania, who in 1C,S2 lan.led upon these sylvan shoivs 
fi-om the Welcome, comprised many men of high poMimn 
487 



438 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



V, 






.>/v 




(1) THE SIMS ARMS, FHOM A TOMBSTONE 1\ ST. PETER'S 

ciiURrnYAun. 



THh: RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS. 



439 




WATCH 



(•2) LLOYD-STANLEY. 



440 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



— descendants of English and Scottish sovereigns, rela- 
tives of British nobles, representatives of tlie landed 
gentry of the Mother Isle, collegians and men of letters. 




Just how many of these distinguished emigrants had 
sought America's broad shores to escape hanging, local 
chronicles magnanimously refuse to disclose. That, 
however, one of the early members oi the Provincial 
Council had left England because of the in-ovoking ex- 
istence of a superfluity of wives, and that the daughter 
of another early councillor — who was also at one time 
chief magistrate of the province — married a pirate, can- 
not be authoritatively denied. 

A distinctive element of that phase of society popu- 
larly known as "aristocracy," whether monarchial or 
democratic, is heraldry, which, in encyclopedical Ian- 



THE RTnilT TO BEAU ARMS. 



441 



.Ullage, is defined as "the art of arranging and explain- 
ing in proper terms all that relates or appertains to tiie 
hearing of arms, crests, hadges, qiiarterings and otiier 
hereditary marks of honor." As a rule, in European 
countries and in Great Britain all distinguished fami- 
lies, not onl}^ those helonging to the nohility, hut to the 
landed gentry as well, hear distinctive coats-of-arms. 
This of course is a matter of common knowledge. It 
may not he as generally known, however, that during 




(4) ASSHKTOX. 

the last century, especially prior to the war for Inde- 
pendence, arms were frequently borne hy Americans, 
particularly hy Philadelphians and Bostonians. and hy 



442 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



the leading; families of South Carolina, Virginia and 
Maryland. Yet such is the fact. For many years suli- 
sequent to the war of the Revolution, however, the use 
of heialdie devices remained in ill favor, everythinu: 
that savored of roynlty hcini,^ riirorously tabooed. "But 
for this Spartan siMitiniciit nature soon provided a 




(5) niCKINSON. 

reagent in that love of ceremony which wealth and ease 
arc sure to call forth. Within the past half century the 
ante-lx'Uum custom has been revived in this country 
to an astonishing extent, until we have become alto- 
i^elher accustomed to the sight, in p«)lite circles, of 
eoats-ol-:iruis and crests u]ion stationery. i)late. furni- 
ture, coaches and the like. 



THE RIGHT TO PyEAli MIM^ 



44:J 



In favor of this armorial revival it is urjjjcd that the 
custom, if properly understood, is not ;it all a (•••Mcomi- 
tant or an evidence either of sn()l)l)ishn('>s or of social 
cxclusiveness. But, it is maintained, heraldry is an 
invaluable aid to biography and genealogy. Says an 

1 '■ 




(6) BUSHROD WASHINGTON. 

American writer, "Arms are worthy of preservation, 
since they are valuable evidence for the genealogist.' 

On the other hand it i^ maintained with equal vigor 
that the indulgence in heraldic devices evidences a 



444 



A SYLl'AX CITY. 



tWm m 







\ 


■Ill'' j 






|i 


!'lf« 




1 


'::"^ 


IL 


■', 


. 





iOii^iii 






'#K"- 




momirchial U'1uU'Ir-\ , altooutlier out of place amoujj; 
ro})iiblicau iiistitiition.s ; and that, while heraldry may 
have been an aid to the genealogi^^t in 5?enii-feudal ages;, 
in these days of comprehensive journalism and a super- 
abundant literature i)ractically there is no need to resort 
(o armory in the making of genealogical investigations ; 
anil, further, that while some American families are 
undenial)ly entitled to l)ear arm<, the great majority of 



TIIH RIGHT TO UEAll ARMS. 



■lJ.-> 



those who do bear them are mere usurpers, whn auda- 
ciously assume the arms of certahi EngU^h lamilies of 
the same name, in whose veins flows not a (h'op of kin- 
dred blood — unless, perchance, the two families happen 
to l)e, in common, lineal descendants of Noah. 

This last objection is unquestionably a taniriblc and a 
truthful one. It has been asserted with much positive- 
ness that of the many ]Massachusetts fjimilies now 
bearing arms, only eleven have a technical, \. p., an 
hereditary right to them. To a more or less extent the 



^A 




(8) LOGAN. 

same thini; can be said of Prnii.-ylvauia. There arc 
scores of families in Philadi'lphia lo-day who-c station- 
ery isgorgeou>ly illuminated with armorial insi^Miia. to 



44 () 



A SYLVAN LITY. 



which they have no more right than to the castles and 
estates of the nobiUty and gentry whose arms they have 
filched. There is no question but that tliis is a species 
of combined robbery and snobbery which is unpleas- 
antly common. 

The mode of procedure is as follows : Mr. Michael 
I'atrick McLarry has recently " struck oil" — or a " bo- 
nanza." Mr. Michael Patrick McLarry having settled 










T'l 



(0) BAKTKAM. 

himself in his brown-stoue front, and liaviTJu: decked 
his mansion, his family, and his person with all the :>]>- 
piovi'd accoulrements of wealth, wends his way lo the 



THE RKrJIT TO liEMi ARMS. 



441 



Professional Podign'i- Preserver and Armorial Artist, 
and informs thai individuiil tlmt he desires a coat-of- 
arms, "asfoine as inny in tiie market/' The astute and 
urbane P. P. P. A. A. A. inqiiirt\s the customer's name. 





(10) SHIPl'EN. (11) I'F.MHFRTON. 

which is given, lie Wwn opens, at the letter M, a ma<- 
sive tome, very nearly as large as the " Philadelphia 
Directory," known as BurkV -General Armory." He 
turns the leaves backward and forward. lu->ilate> with 
some little concern for a moment, and then suddenly 
exclaims : '' Ah, yes ! Do you think you are de>eeuded 
from theMallories, of Mallorie ^Fanor. County Surrey?- 
-I think so, sorr,- n-plies Mr. Mhhael Patrick Mo- 
Larry, with a look and in a tone which give .ou.-lusive 
evidence that he doeMi't think auythiug ..f the kiud ; 
and the ratio of pro1nil>ilitie> to p.,s>il.ilities is as a 



448 



A STL VAX CITY. 




(12) JANMV. 

thousand to one tliat ho Mould luuc uiiuio precisely the 
same reply if th<' ^lohirries, of ^[obirrie Castle, County 
Sussex, had been cited, instead of the Mallories, of Mal- 
lorie Manor, County Surrey. 




(13) CHEW. 



THE EIGHT TO BEAR ARMS. 



449 








(14) LAKDNEU. 

This method, however, is Ijy some fastidious indi- 
viduals deemed to be entirely too vulgar. Their m<»dc 
of procedure is somewhat more geuteel — at least it is 



y 





(lo) WILLING. 



{h'l) MUKlilr 



450 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



more expensive. A trip to Europe and a visit to the 
Herald's College, in London, are essential to the earry- 
iw^ out of this more seleet plan of aetion. To obtain an 




(17) UOLLlXGSWOKTll. 

assignment of arms it is cnstomarv to i)resent a petition 
to the Earl :^^arshal, and the ajjplieant is required, 
nominally, to produee evidenee that he ean sustain the 
rank of gentry. The fee for a general search is £-2 2.s. ; 
for an ordinary search ijs. ; and for copying and regis- 



THE RTOHT TO BEAR ARMS. 



451 



tering 6.s\ 0(7. for the first, and .")>•. for every other 
generation. Tlie otficials are very alliil)!*'. and llie 
search clerks not critically captious ; and the customer 




(2U) NORJUS. 



(•Jl; TJLc.U.MAN. 



452 



A SYLVAN- CITY. 




'' r I '-tin I "^iriTk"! ^r 




(22) POWEL. 

carries away witli him the arms of his newlj'-acquired 
forefathers, which are thereafter cherished with much 
soruntiule — i. e., with emotions somewhat akin to those 
entertained hy the eccentric Major-General in the 
"Pirates of Penzance," who sits in pensive melancholy 
in an old chapel, upon his recently-purchased estate, and 
indulges in tliat plaintive colloquy which, though flimi- 
liar, is worth quoting ; 



THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS. 



453 



'^General. Why do I sit here? To esciii.c IVoni llic 
pirates' clutches I described myself as an oridiati, and I 
am no orphan. I came here to humble myself before the 
tombs of my ancestors, and to implore their pardon for 
the disgrace I have brought upon them. 

Frederick. But you forget, sir. You only bought the 
property a year ago, and the stucco on your baronial castle 
is scarcely dry. 

General Frederick, in this chapel are ancestors ; you 
cannot deny that. I don't know whose ancestors they 
^cere, but I know whose ancestors they (tre. and I shudder 
to think that their descendant by purchase (if I may so 




(2:]) MfCAl.L. 

describe myself) should have brought disgrace upon what 
I have no doubt was an unstained escutcheon." 

There are, however, in Philadelphia many old fami- 
lies who bear arms, not ostentatiously, but mo.lcstly. 
which have been borne by their ancestors before th.in 



454 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



for a century and more. As to how these heraldic cni- 
])lems, individually or as a whole, came to be originally 
borne the writer declines to express an opinion. Thai 
a very large percentage of those whose coats-of-arnis are 
referred to in this sketch are lineal descendants of fine 
old families belonging to the English, Welsh, Scotch or 
Irish gentry, and that they, therefore, bear their armo- 
rial insignia by right of heredity, the writer is firndy 
convinced. Thai, however, some few of them bear their 




(:24) GILl'IN. 

arms without such right cannot be questioned ; for no 
less a personage than the eminent and cultured James 
Logan, Chief Magistrate of the Province from 173C 
to 17.*>8, has left a niauuscript- recently i>ultli>hed in 
Keith's •"Provincial Councillors'"'- t<> wit. a letter to 



THE BIGUT TO BEAR ARMS. 455 



ComalGeorgo Loi>:ui, dated Sci)tt'mln'r '.», 171:'.. in wlii.h 
lie frankly says : 

"N. Giiffitts informing- me that thou di'siivst y.- . ■..:»! -uf- 
arms belonging to our niinie, I here give thet; in wax nn hiit 




(25) LENOX. 

I have on my seal, but believe neither of us have any v.-ry 
oood right to it, being what the English Logans of Ox- 
fordshire carry; but those of Scotland, I have been i..M 
have a very difierent one (and yet a good one), uh. 1 
have never seen ; however, having occasion for a seal, and 
tinding only this in my way I made use of it, nc.r ,1.. I l.:n 
a citation to ye Herald's Office f..r my presumption. 

Before going farther it may be well to pivmi-e a bri- l 
statement of the sigiiilicance attached to the more 
common of the heraldic lines and .symbols. 

The "shield," or the leading feature ..f an armorial 
► vat, is distingnished by certain color>, called -liiu- 



456 



A SYLVAX riTY. 




(26) ALLISON. 

tures," which are separated by division lines. Tlie 
tinctures used in heraldry are metals, colors and furs. 
They are often expressed in their natural colors, but in 
drawings and engravings are re])resented l)y certain 
lines and points — an invention of a noted Italian herald, 
Sylvester Petra-Sancta. The two metals employed are : 
or, or gold, represented by little dots in a plain Held ; and 
arfjent, or silver, expressed by the shield being entirely 
white. The five colors used are : azure, or blue, de- 
picted by horizontal lines; gules^ or red, shown by per- 
pendicular lines ; rert, or green, indicated l)y parallel 
lines from the dexter chief to the sinister base — /. e., 
from the ui)ptr riuiit-hand corner to the lower left-liand 



THE EIGHT TO JiKAR AliMS. 



451 



comer; sahJe, or ])lack. desi^imtiMl by cross linos, ]u»ri- 
zontal and lu-ipfudiciilar : and inirpiiri . or jiinplr. nj)- 




Ul NNV. JOHN PKNN. 

(27) THE sKAi.rs Of nvt; kauly uoveknors. 
resented In' lines from the sinister chief (npprr Uft-hand 
corner) to the dexter l)a>e (lower riuht-iiand cornrr). 
The furs most frequently employed are : trmine, de- 



458 A STL VAX CITY. 



pictecl by a white field with l)la(k spots of a peeuHar 
shape ; and ermines, iiulicatt'd by a black licld with simi- 
larly shaped white spots, Tliese explanations, Avhieh 
are, of eourse, technical and encyclopedic, are given in 
order that the reader of this sketch maybe made fl^miliar 
not only Avith the charges ui)on the accompanying coats- 
of-arms, but also with the hereditary tinctures with 
which these heraldic coats an* colored — in a word, that 
the artist's work may be intelligently examined. 

The arms of William Penn, whose father, Yice-Ad- 
miral William Penn, was knighted by Charles II, were 
long borne by members of his family, and are borne to- 
day by Major Peter Penn-Gaskell Hall, U. S. A., of this 
city, quartered with those of the Gaskell family (7). 

Judge Bushrod Washington, who for many years 
honored the United States Circuit Court Bench at Phi- 
ladelphia, bcn-e the same arms as did General George 
Washington, l>oth the general and the judge being de- 
scendants, as is supposed, of t heWashingtons in the north 
of England. The same arms are borne to-day by William 
Herbert Washington, Esq., of the Philadelphia bar (»>). 
Among other distinguished Philadel[)hians of early 
times was Thomas Lloyd, born in KUO, who was the 
lirst Chief Magistrate of the Province under Penn. His 
ancestry can be traced back through ''the fair ^laid of 
Kent" to the latter's grandfather, Edward I. ^^fany of 
Lloyd's descendants, through the female bram/Hes, are 
now living in Philadelphia, who l»ear the Lloyd arms, 
inq)alrd with those of Thomas Lloyd'> mother, nte 



THE UKillT TO HEMi AirVs. 



IV. 



Elizabeth Stanley. The accoinpauyiu- ilUist ration is 
that of a coat-ot-arnison an oak ])aMcl foniu'ilyat Dolo- 
bran Hall— the Lloyd estate— Dolo!)i-an, ("oiuity Mont 
gomery, Walets (2). 




(2"^) lilDDLE. 

Dr. Thomas (Jrienu'. another early member of the 
Frovineial Conncil, ^va6 also of royal lineage, his anees- 
tor bein- Sir Thomas Graham (or Gramme) who married 
a daughter of Kin- Kobert HI of Seotland. N<me of 
his descendants are now living in Philadelphia, but the 
Gra-me eoat-of-arnis, as borne by the famous Elizabeth 



4fi0 



A STLVAX CITY. 



Ferguson, nee Graeme, his daughter, is given here- 
with (3). 

l^obert Assheton, Avho was Hkewise a Provincial 
Councillor early in the last century, descended from Sir 
Jolin de Assheton, who was made a Kniglit of the ]5ath 
at the coronation of Henry lY. Xone of Robert Asshc- 
ton's descendants now reside in Philadelphia; but so 
long as any members of the family remained they bore 
the Assheton arms as given above (4). 

James Logan, born in 1074, besides being a Provincial 
Councillor, -was Penn's private secretary. Mayor of 
Philadelphia. Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Pre- 





(•J'.») WATMOUCiH. (oO) liOlDINOT. 

sident of the Council, etc His coat-of-arms, referred 
to above, as borne by liimsrlf and by his descendantsof 
the present day and as usi-d by the T.oganian Library, 
is also given herewith (8). 



77//; UinilT TO BEAR ARMS. 



-nil 



Likewise will be found above the arms of .lolm l)i«k- 
insoii, born in 17:32, uutlior of the fumou- • Faiincr's 
Letters," founder of Dickinson College, and, succcss- 




(31) TIIF SMYTH HATCHMENT AT CHRIST rHTTHCn. 

ively, President of Delaware and cf Pennsylvania. His 
brother, Cn-neral Philemon Dickinsun-lwth bein- sons 
of Judge Samuel Dickinsou, of Kent Couuty, Delaware, 
— l)ore the same arms (5). 

r,riiiamin FrankUu's brother, John Franklin, hoir a 
coaL-of-arms, as given above, although it is staled up-Mi 



402 .1 SYLVAN CITY. 

very excellent authority that it was borne without right, 
behig of spuriou^s origin. That Benjamin Franklin 
brouglit this lieraldic insignia with him wlicn he emi- 
grated from Massachusetts is not clear. It is very prob- 
able that he did not (3(3). 

Among other distinguished members of the Provincial 
Council was Thomas Hopkinson. Francis Hopkinson, 
one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence 
from New Jersey, was a son of his, while a son of the 
signer, Joseph Hopkinson, was a distinguished Judge, 
and the author of that familiar song, " Hail Columbia." 
The name is still a reputable one in Fhiladelphia. The 
Hopkinson arms are given herewith (38). 

Accompanying this sketch will also be found th(> arms 
of John Bartram, born in 1701, spoken of 1)y Linn.Tus 
as ''the greatest natural botanist in the world."' His 
grandfather, John Bartram, came from England with 
Peun, in 1082 (9). 

Among other distinguished Philadelphians whose de- 
scendants bear their arms, which are given herewith, 
may be noted the following : Edward Shippen. born in 
1639, a member and the president of the Provincial 
Council, Speaker of tlu^ Assembly, and the first Mayor 
of Philadelphia (10) ; Thomas Janney, born in 1033, for 
many years an esteemed minister of the Society ol 
Friends, and one of the earliest members of tlie Pro- 
vincial Council (12) ; Benjamin Chew. l)orn in 1722, 
member of the Council, Attorney-General, Chief Justice 
of the Supreme Court, President of the High Court of 



THE nifiJIT TO HEAR ARMS. 



■ir,:} 



Chancery, etc. (13); Dr. Thomas Cadwahidcr, an emi- 
nent physician in his; day, wlu) was also a nH-iiibi-r of tlic 
Provincial Council (o2) ; Valentine llollingsworth. who 
accompanied Penn in the Wch-jmu . in lOS-J. and who was 
a member of the first A^sLMnhly in 1<)S;;, and one of the 
first grand jury impanelled in the province (IT); l>aac 
Norris, who came to rhiladelphia in 1()'.I2, who was 
President Judge of the Court of Connnon Pleas, and, 
for upwards of thirty years, a member of the ProvinciMl 





(8.3) CAUWALADER. (oo) A UEIK UOM HI K. 

Council (20) ; Charles Willing. l>orn in 1710. twice Mayr 
of Philadelphia, whose son. Thoina> Willing, wa> (he 
senior partner in the famous lirm of Willing »!v: Mnnis 
during the Kevolution. and presidint of the fn>t Cnitrd 
States Bank (15), and Francis Kawle (1S|. Anlli.»n\ Mor- 
ris (10), Phineas Pemberton (11), lAiulford Lardnen Hi, 
and James Tilghman (21), who, besides holding other 



464 A SYLVAy CITY. 



offices of honor, were members of that distinguished 
l)ody, so often referred to in this sketch, the Provincial 
Council. 

There are still other Philadelphia families who have 
Itorne arms since some time in the last century, among 
them the following : Biddle (28), Powel (22), Gilpin (24), 
Lenox (25), Allison (2(3), McCall (23), Penington (H7), 
Williams (19), Boudinot (30), Watmough (29), and 
Abercrombie (33). 

Most of the illustrations given are fac similes or re- 
duced copies of l)ook-plates — that is, engravings of 
family arms placed upon the inside of the front cover of 
the books comprising a library, as a distinguishing mark 
of ownership ; for books will be borrowed. Arms were 
chiefly used upon seals, however, in olden times, when 
pretty much all correspondence was fastened with 
sealing-wax, the envelope of the present being a thing 
not dreamed of Accompanying will be found copies 
of the coats-of-arms, taken from the individual seals 
of live of the early Governors of the province, to wit., 
Patrick Gordon, 172(3-36 ; James Hamilton. 1748-54, 
1759-63 ; Kobert Hunter Morris, 1754-5(3 ; William 
Denny, 1750-59, and John Penn, 17(33-71, 1773-70 (27). 

Coats-of-arms have long been utilized also upon sta- 
tionery, silver plate, furniture and family coaches. This 
latter custom, a conmion one at the present time, was 
in vogue so early .as the time of the first Isaac Norris, 
who came to Philadelphia in 1(>U2. From a manuscrii)! 
now extant, we find that in ordering his carriage he di- 



Till-: incur m nhwi: m:.)/s. 



40.1 







(34) VAULT COVERINGS AT CUKIST CHURCH BURIAL GROUND. 



466 



A SYLVAy CITY. 



rected his famil}- arm;<, " tliree falcon heads," to be 
quartered upon it. 

Armorial coats have aho for many years, and indeed 
for centuries, been made an important element in archi- 
tecture, in the shape of wood carvings, stone sculp- 
tures, and metal castings. Upon the grating covering 
each of the two lower front windows at the present 
rooms of the Historical Society, on Spruce Street above 
Kighlli, is an iron casting of the iirms of AViUiam Penn, 













1^^ 



-^ 



/uw 



(oO) llil- l-l.iLi;= AK.Ms I.N bXUCCO, AT BELMONT. 



TIIK UK! Ill' TO i:i:.\l! MIM. 



4t; 



the Founder, the ;q)pi'iiniii(T «»r whirli i- indicMtftl hy 
the iUiistr:ition(7). ('oats-ol-anns wen' likcwi-c |i:»intfd 
in panels upon the walls of in:inv n'^idcnccs. and, in tin* 










IM 

_A_D_EST_ 

(:){'}) FKANKI.IN. 

form of stucco work, were placed upon the eeilhiLr- <'i 
family mansions. The arms of the Peters family, in 
this latter form, can he seen t<)-d:iy upon the ct-ilin^' «»f 
one of the lower rooms at IVlmont Mansion, in Fair- 
mount Park, formerly the historic residence of .Tudi:»' 
Richard Peters, of Revolutionary lame (.T)). 

In early times coats-of-arms were also occasionally 
cut into trravestones and vault-slabs. At St. Peter*s 



468 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



Church, Third and Pine Streets, there are two such lier- 
iildic devices, one on the Sims slab (1), on the eastern 
end of the church, and the other on the south side of the 
Wallace vault, near the Third Street end of the cliurch- 
yard (39). There can also be found at the present lime, 
in the burial-ground of Christ C'hurch, Fifth and Arcli 
Streets, a number of coats-of-arms cut into old tomb- 
stones and vault-coverings ; but they present so cnim- 
bled an appearance as to be perfectly illegil)le (34). An 
old custom, still much in vogue in Great Britain, was 
practiced in this country to some extent seventy-five or 
one hundred years ago. Reference is made to the use 




(37) PENINGTON. 

of hatchments upon the occasion of the death of some 
distinguished personage. Hatchments are lozenge- 
slmped frames charged with a shield-of-arms — a sort of 
inescutcheon— usually affixed to the frout of a house 
upon the decease of one of its principal inmates, and, 
upon the day of the funeral, carried to the chiinli and 
hung upon the wall, ur upon some convenient pillar, 



THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS. 



4C9 




(38) IIOPKINSOX. 

there to remain for all time. There are but two hatch- 
ments positively known to be in existence in America 
at the present time. One of these, containing the arms 
of Frederick Smyth, a former Chief Justice of Xew 
Jersey, hangs beneath the belfry of Christ Church, where 
it has remained since IBOG. The only other authentic 
hatchment in this country is one known as tlu' Ealph 
Izard hatchment, hanging in the (juaint Churcli of St. 
James, at Goose Creek, S. C. Tlie Izards are related 
to the Draytons of Philadelphia, formerly a South Caro- 



470 



A SYLVAN CITY. 



Una family also. They are likewise related by marriafje 
to the Shippens — George Izard, a sou of Pialpb Izard, 
having married the relict of Thomas Lee Shippeu. 

The older we grow as a nation, the more heed we 
naturally give to matters historical and anticpiarian ; 
and as genealogical research lies distinctively within 
the domain of the historian and paleologist, so the sub- 




/ 



1" 






(39) FROM THE WALLACE VAULT AT ST. PETER'S. 



THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS. 471 

ject of heraldry, which is, according to the argument of 
the armorial enthusiast, an important adjunct of gene- 
alogy, grows upon the attention of the careful student, 
and, to some extent, of the public as well. There is no 
doubt but that we have made more or less progress 
since the benighted days, some years ago, in which an 
English diplomatist in this country underwent so pain- 
ful an experience. While in Xew York he sent his Lon- 
don chariot to a certain coachmaker's, and upon calling 
shortly afterwards was somewhat astounded at dis- 
covering his ancestral shield and crest upon half a 
dozen Yankee gigs and dog-carts, and having asked for 
an explanation was informed that "the pattern seemed 
to be very much admired." We have gotten beyond 
that stage of blissful ignorance, however, and we may 
well speculate with Mr. William H. Whitmore ("Ele- 
ments of Heraldry") as to whether or not, "with this 
increase of familiarity with the science, we may also 
expect a more scrupulous attention to its laws, and a 
decrease of the ridiculous assumptions which have 
thrown an undeserved stigma upon American Her- 
aldry." 



STEPHEN GIRARD: 

MARINER AND MERCHANT 




^ XDER the roof of an oki nouse 
in AVater Street, one Decem- 
ber (lay, over fifty \ears ago, 
a Avill was read, wliicli made 
the City of Philadi-lphia one 
/ of the richest legatees on record. 
The fortune, as it then stood, 
amounted to nearly eight millions 
of dollars, but it included i)roi)- 
erty which has grown so valuable 
that, great as are the expenses which have developed 
under the will, they do not consume even the interest, a 
portion of which is yearly added to the capital. The 
will provided for a plain and comfortable home which 
should hold iit least one hundred orphan boys, and give 
them a support and education. The trustees instead 
built a marble palace, supported by pillars each of which 
cost thirteen thousand dollars. Everything else was in 
proportion, and magnificence was the only object heUl 
in view. Instead of a hundred ])oys, Girard College 
last year coiitaiMcd one thousand one hundred and 
four. The expenditures for the college the same year 
472 




STATUE OF STEPHEN GIRARD— AT THE COLLEGE DOORWAY. 



STEPHEN GIBARD. 475 



amounted to nearly five hundred thousand dollars. 
Over five hundred thousand were expended on other 
trusts, and yet there was a balance of over twenty thou- 
sand left unused. 

This is a handsome showing for one man, and he a 
foreigner, who had to borrow five dollars to bring him 
into the city ! And when Stephen Girard left this 
oreat fortune he did not leave it to perpetuate his name, 
or build a great monument to his memory. Each of 
the carefully-devised clauses showed that he meant it to 
be of honest, enduring use. He wanted fatherless boys 
educated as working men ; he wanted the river front 
improved, and the city made safer and more healthful ; 
the hospitals were to have larger means of helping the 
sick and insane, and nurses were to be educated. None 
of these objects were subjects of speculation with Girard ; 
he had a personal interest in each one. He was him- 
self an uneducated boy, and knew at what a disadvan- 
tage he had been placed. The river front had been the 
scene of his life-work ; and no one knew better what 
care the insane needed, and how necessary were trained 
nurses to the public. He had lived in Philadelphia 
through days of war and blockade ; through prosperity 
and through desolating plague. He came to it when it 
was part of the British colonies, and he had been the 
staunch, steady friend, not only of the city but of the 
Country, through many heavy, dark days. Having no 
children of his own he adopted those who were father- 
less. 



476 A SYLVAN CITY. 



And Philadelphia ? How lias she taken these bene- 
fits, and what has she done for the memory of her 
l)enefactor ? Apart from the extravagance of building 
sueh a school-home, she has administered the Trust 
with honesty and fidelity. There has never been a 
scandal attached to theGirard Estate, nor any question 
of its administration. As for the man iiimself— Phila- 
delphia has not only laughed at him. wondered over 
him, told hard stories of him, but she has also allowed 
otliers to do so. She has never taken enough interest 
ill liim to have a biography written that would do him 
justice. She has suffered the most unblushing stories- 
of him and of his famil}' to go uncontradicted — she has 
ni'ver taken the trouble to inquire what sort of man he 
really was. 

Does any one believe that the morose and ancient 
figure with one eye — ill-clad, silent, repulsive, unob- 
servant — shamlding through the streets of Philadelphia, 
which is pictured in all biographical sketches of Girard, 
really represents the alert, keen Frenchman, who. more 
than any other man. built up the city's commerce, who 
was the bravest in pestilence, the quickest to save the 
couiiliy from financial ruin, who made a fortune for 
himself and gave aid to the helpless? 

Curious and eccentric he certainly was, but grapes 
grow on grape-vines, even though the vine be gnarled, 
and out of (iirard's life came his virtues. He was keen 
at a l)argain, just — not merciful ; but he was not crafty 
nor miserlv ; he was not intolerant to the helpless, nor 



STEPHEN GIRARD. 



477 



sneer at religion. He had a heart as well as a 
even if it were the weaker of the two. 

Stephen Girard w^as a 
man under a possession. 
He had a great talent, 
and it dominated him. 
In his pursuit of business 
he was as keen as a lover, 
and as blind to outside 
and diverting influences. 
It was not money-making 
that was his passion, that 
came as a logical result ; 
but he was absorbed in, 
and devoted to business. 




A COKNEK OF THE COLLEGE. 



478 A SYLVA]^ CITY. 

He sometimes hardly seemed to realize the value of 
money toother i)eoi)le, and that a man should be ruined 
because he could not command a certain sum on a cer- 
tain day was almost a crime to him. Xo one had a 
right to get into such a position, and he should ask no 
pity. Girard had no patience with failures. If a man 
had feet, let him stand on them. Xo one found Girard 
willing to act as a crutch, although he could go into the 
houses whose very air was death, and in his arms carry 
out men who were dying with a pestilence. He 
believed in fraternity, but his employes were — his em- 
ployes. In his counting-room, his bank, his house, 
there was but one will, and that was his own. He paid 
for the work done for him. Did the worker need more 
money V had he necessities l)eyond his income ? What 
was that to his employer ! He kept to his hniits in all 
his relations in life, and never lost a clear sense of rela- 
tive positions. After his brother Jean died, he took 
charge of the three orphan children left in Philadel- 
phia. He sent them to the best schools, but he paid 
the bills out of the little estate their father left. His 
house was their home, and he was kind to them. He 
never bought a shawl or dress for one that he did not 
for the others, and he rememl)cred their girlish fancies. 
After they had married from his house he pelted their 
children, and liked to have them about, and indeed felt 
a right to the litth^ people, but he never adopted these 
girls, and never seemed to have a father's devotion f(>r 
them. He corresponded with his family in France, but 



STEPHEN OIRARD. 



479 




! ox THE STAIKWAY — VIS 



SITORS' DAT. 



480 A SYLVAN CITY. 

he was too busy watching the markets of the world to 
give mucli time to iiidivicUials, even if they were his 
relations. 

He was born in Bordeaux, of a family characterized 
by a devotion to the sea and a talent for commerce. 
Ilis grandfather, John Girard, was "Captain, Master,* 
I'atron," and his father and uncles repeated the record. 
His father, Pierre Girard, however, went farther, and 
was the hero of an adventure that brought the family 
much honor. England and France were, at the time 
of the story, at war, and l)oth Heets were otf Brest, 
watching chances to do mischief; and so England one 
day sent a fire-ship into the midst of the enemy and 
set aflame a ship of the line. At sea a A\\\^ on lire is 
not a desirable neighbor, and it may be imagined that 
the other vessels quickly drew out of danger. But 
Pierre (iirard was the man for an emergency, so he up 
with his sails and went into action with the fire. He 
did not go to rescue the crew, but meant to put the 
tire out, and he succeeded. Then he sailed back to his 
place, and the crew of the endangered ship set them- 
selves to work, and were soon in condition to rejoin the 
tleet and look for reveiTge. It was so bold and well- 
managed an affair that it was reported to Louis XV, 
who was greatly delighted, and, sending for Captain 
(tirard, took the sword from his own side and knighted 
him by conferring on him the Order of St. Louis. He 
ordered a gold medal struck commemorating the act, 
and had the whole atlair placed on record in the Admi- 



STEPHEN GIBAED. 




IN THE COLLEGE LIBHARY. 



482 A SYLVAN CITY. 



rally of Paris. And so Captain (nrard went home to 
Bordeaux with the order on his coat, and the king's 
sword by his side, and when he died the sword was, 
according to his orders, placed in his collin and buried 
with him. 

Stephen was the eldest child of this happy hero, and 
according to the baptismal record which we give, ap- 
pears to have been at first called by the French syn- 
onym of Etienne. In the records of the family the 
names of four others appear — two brothers, a sister, 
and one who is but once mentioned because he died 
and his father mourned for him greatly. Jean was 
near Stephen in age, being born in 1751, and was 
also the captain of a ship, merchant and trader. He 
had an estate in the West Indies, which seems to have 
been inherited from his father, but he was several times 
in IMiiladi'l[)hia, and was once in i)artnership with his 
brother. AVhcn he was ofl' on his voyages he Avrote 
frank and friendly letters to Stephen, and advised 
liim of wines and tlour, tobacco and other expmts and 
imports. He sold barrels of hair-powder for Stephen, 
as well as family flour ; and in one of his letters gives 
his staid Philadelphia brother a comical commission by 
dc})utizing him as an aml)assador in a love aflair. He 
has made up his mind, he writes, that he should like to 
marry a certain " K. B."— he only gives her initials— 
in Philadelphia, but before he connnitted himself he 
wished Stephen to go see how the land lay. In the first 
place, his brother was to find out whether Jean's person 



STEPHEN OTRARD. 



483 



DEPARTEHENT DE LA. GIRONDB. 
»» e«» 

NAIRIE DE LA VIILE DE BORDEAUX. 




SSlO*^^:^'^:^ <33ri^3^S3:S2»c* 



Extrait du Be gist re dcs actes rfe ^;?^^^^5'^^:-<- 
de Van y>/^ ^ 



/ZA. 




STEPHEN GIRARD'S BIRTH CERTIFICATE. 

and fortune were pleasing to the young lady, and then 
wliether she had any money ; hecause if she had not, 



484 A SYLVAN CITY. 

Jean remarks, that will settle the matter. Somethiiiu 
iippiirently did decide liiin in the negative, as he finally 
married a young Irish girl, who evidently was one of 
the few persons not in awe of Stephen, as, it is said, 
she once hecame so angry with him that she threw a 
howl at his head, and so broke not only the bowl but 
the partnership. AVhen this was done, Jean was worth 
sixty thousand dollars, while Stephen had hut thirty. 
They must after this have made the quarrel up, lie- 
cause Jean in his letters perpetually contides his '' little 
family " to Stephen's care, reminding him that in his 
own absence he, Stephen, is their only protector. The 
other brother, a second Etienne, who kept the name 
and who was born in 17.">7, was a lawyer and a school- 
fellow of Nai)oleon Bonaparte's. In the days of the 
French Revolution he was a member of the '' Franklin 
Club," and always held honorable positions in JJor- 
deaux. 

Both of these brothers had the advantage of l)eing 
Avel! educated, but Stephen never would go to college. 
When he was about seventeen he made s(mie remarks 
at the table in the ])resence of his stepm(»tlier about 
se(;ond marriages, which displeased his father, who told 
him very promptly that if he could not behave in his 
house he could leave it. Stephen was as (piiek to vv\)]y 
that nothing would suit him better, and if his father 
would give him "a venture" he would go at once. The 
father took him at his word and bought assorted goods 
to the value of a thousand francs, and with them Ste- 



STEPHEN GIRAIW. 



4s: 




SECRETARY AND MUSICAL CLOCK PRESENTED TO GIRAKD BY 
JEROME BONAPARTE. 



486 A SYLVA:N' CITY. 

phon .set sail for the Froncli West Indies, and so was 
launched in life. lie began as cabin bo}^ but was soon 
promoted to be cook, and then went up grade after 
grade to steward, mate and captain, until he became, as 
he liked to say, ''mariner and merchant," and was a 
master in both. He seems to have traded principall}" 
between Xew Orleans and the West Indies, coming to 
Philadelphia for the first time in 17G9. W^hen he came 
at last to stay, it was — if the story is true — l)}- an acci- 
dent. In May of 177G, he was on his way in a sloop 
from Xew Orleans to Canada, when he was lost in a 
fog. His signal of distress brought an American vessel 
alongside, and Girard asked where he was. "In 
Delaware Bay." The next question was how was he 
to get out ? This, the American told him, was easy 
enough, but just outside the bay the sea swarmed with 
British cruisers, and his advice to the young Frenchman 
was, that having come safely in he should risk no more, 
but sail direct to Philadelphia and there dispose of his 
cargo. To this Girard objected; he did not know the 
river, and had no money to pay a pilot. The captain 
then backed his advice by action, and lent Girard five 
dollars ; a pilot came on board, and so Girard ignorantiy 
and by chance, it seemed, went to his future home in 
the Quaker City. In July, the ports were all block- 
aded by Lord Howe, and Girard sailed no more. He 
rented a little house on Water Street, and went into 
another " venture" of assorted goods. He lx)ught every- 
thing that he thought would sell again, but the l)usiness 



STEPHEN GIRARD. 



48-; 




STEPHEN GIRARD, HIS GIG. 



he found most profitable during all these early j-ears 
was bottling wine and brandy, which were consigned to 
him in casks from Bordeaux. 

In front of his little shop there stood a pump, and 
among the girls who came for water was Polly Lum. 
She was young, and she was prett}' ; her eyes were 
black, and her dark hair curled about her neck. Girard 
was not so aljsorbod that he could not see all this, 
nor was she indifterent to the conquest she made of the 
young Frenchman. He visited her, he asked her to 



488 A SYLVAN CITY. 

marry liim, and Polly laughed and said she would, and 
so, on the sixth of July, 1777, they went to St. J^iulV 
church and were married by the Rev. Dr. Samuel ]Ma- 
gaw. Then they went back to Water Street, and li\ cd 
there until Septend)er, when Lord Howe, fancying he 
had business in riiiladelphia, occupied the city, and so 
drove many of the inhabitants away, and among them 
the young Girards. They went to Mount Holly. Xew 
Jersey, where they bought a house for five hundred 
dollars, and Stephen again carried on the bottling busi- 
ness, but now sold his wine to the British. In 1778 Lord 
Howe left the city, and the}' returned. The after story 
of this marriage was certainly very miserable, but there 
seems to be no reason for the tales of the wife's unhap- 
piness from Girard's ill-treatment of her, nor of his 
dissatisfactif)n with her frivolity and ignorance. In her 
early and growing insanity there was misery enough lo 
account for everything, and when at the end of eight 
years she had to ])e placed in the Pennsylvania Hospi- 
tal, his brother Jean, who had had every ()i)p()rlunity of 
knowing Stephen's domestic affairs, wrote to him : '' I 
have just received your letter of the l'2th, and I cannot 
express how I felt at the news. I truly grieved because 
of the terrible state you must be in, especially because I 
knoAv the friendship and love you have for your wife." 
He then goes on to say that only business keeps him 
from going at once to consok' his brother, but adjured 
him to "conquer your grief, and show yourself a man. 
for when we have nothing with which to reproach our- 



STEPHEN GIRARD. 491 

selves, nothing should crush us." This letter has espC' 
cial value, for whatever else the Girards were they were 
not hypocrites, and Jean would not have irritated his 
brother by any etlusive, empty condolence. There is 
every proof that Girard did his best for his wife. He 
had her under medical treatment at home, he sent her 
to the country, and wanted her to make a visit to 
France, but this was given up ; and when after a seven 
years' residence in the hospital she seemed better, he 
took her home again. But she grew worse, and there 
^vas no hope, and she was finally placed permanently in 
the hospital, where she died in 1815 ; and one of Girard's 
old friends says that as they stood around the coffin the 
tears ran down the husband's cheeks, ai\d he was neither 
callous nor indiflerent to his wife's death, nor to her 
memory. The first bequest in the will, and the largest 
made to any of the existing corporations, was to the 
hospital in which she had been cared for. She is remem- 
l»ered as an old woman, swarthy and dark-eyed, sitting 
in the sun, and hardly recognizing the old housekeeper 
who would sometimes take Girard's little nieces, Jean's 
daughters, to see her. 

During these years Girard was steadily at work. He 
hatl taken the oath of allegiance in 1777, and seems to 
have lost all desire to go to sea. He once made a trip 
to Leghorn, from whence he brought a table of various 
colored marbles ; but he lived in AVater Street, cont(»nt 
and busy. His ships went everywhere, beginning with 
one small vessel wdiich sailed to the West Indies and 



493 A SYLVAN CITY. 



])ack, carrying cargoes both ways. As his profits en- 
abled him to do so, he bought other vessels and i)rojected 
long V03'ages. lie named his ships after French philos- 
ophers, and the Montesquieu, the Voltahe and Bousaeau 
were known in many ports. He would st-nd a cargo to 
London, and there the ship Avould reload for another 
port, and so go on and on until it had sailed half around 
the world. He gave the nu)st minute directions, and 
left nothing to the discretion of his t-mployes, and 
nothing reconciled him to the slightest neglect of or 
change in his orders. He once sent a young supercargo 
with two shi})s on a two years' voyage. He was to go 
first to London, then to Amsterdam, and so from port 
to port, selling and buying, until at last he was to go to 
Mocha, buy coftee and turn l)ack. At I^ondon, how- 
ever, the young fellow was charged by the Barings not 
to go to Moclia, or lie M'ould fall into the hands of 
pirates; at Amsterdam they told him the same thing; 
everywhere the caution was repeated ; but he sailed on 
until he came to the last port before Mocha. Here he 
was consigned to a merchant who had been an appren- 
tice to Girard in Philadelphia— for this hai>pened when 
(rirard was an (^Id and rich man— and he too told him 
he must not dare venture near the lied Sea. The su- 
l)ercargo was now in a dilenuna. On one side was his 
master's order; on the other, two vessels, a valuable 
cargo, a large amount of money. The merchant knew 
Girard's peculiarities as well as the supercargo did, but 
bethought the rule to "break owners, not orders," 



STEPHEN GIRARD. 495 



might this time be governed by discretion. "You'll 
not only lose all you have made," he said, "but you '11 
never go home to justify yourself." The young man 
reflected. After all, the object of his voyages was to 
get coffee, and there was no danger in going to Java, so 
he turned his prow, and away he sailed to the Chinese 
Seas. He bought cortee at four dollars a sack, and sold 
it in Amsterdam at a most enormous advance, and then 
went back to riiiladelphia in good order, with large 
profits, sure of approval. Soon after he entered the 
eounting-room Girard came in. He looked at the young 
fellow from under his bushy brows, and his one eye 
gleamed with resentment. He did not greet him nor 
welcome him nor congratulate him, but, shaking his 
angry hand, cried : " AVhat for you not go to Mocha, 
sir?" And for the moment the supercargo wished he 
had ! But this Avas all Girard ever said on the subject. 
He rarely scolded his employes. He might express his 
opinion by cutting down a salary, and when a man did 
not suit him he dismissed him. He had no patience 
with incompetence, no time to educate people in 
business habits. Each man felt he was watched and 
weighed ; and as long as he did his best, and his best 
suited, he was treated justly, if closely. The master 
exacted honesty, soberness, punctuality, and allowed 
none of his plans to be thwarted by any independence 
on the part of his subordinates. They understood that 
they Avere to leave business in the office, so no one of 
them gossipped to his friends over Girard\s affairs. 



496 .1 SYLVAy CITF. 

Ill those tlays Philadelphia was the commercial port 
of the country. Along Water and Front Streets were 
shipping-otlices ; the wharves were l)usy with vessels 
coming and going, and there was talk of China and 
Japan, of the Barbadoes, of wine and silks from France. 
The odors of tea and cotl'ee hung heavy in the ware- 
houses, and no one complained because the Delaware 
was shallow, or the city miles up the river, (riraid 
had found one of the best places in the world in which 
to luiild a fortune. Young as he was when he landed, 
he had l)oth experience and knowledge. Back in his 
t)wii family were the traditions and habits of fathers and 
sons who had been sailors and traders, and Stephen 
was born with instincts that never failed him. lie knew 
where to sell and where to buy, and could calculate 
what would be the market prices hundreds of miles 
away and a year ahead. He understood possible 
dangers and provided for them, and his busy brain 
marshaled the world to do him service. His fajiiil}', 
hoAvcver, had no faith in his establishing himself in a 
young country struggling in a war with so great a 
l)ower as Englaml. 

In 1777 his brother Jean wrote to him from Cape 
Francois, that in every letter he receives from their 
father, he asks'ncws of Stephen, "with, as I can well 
imagine, tears in his eyes," says the wriiir. and im- 
j)lores Jean to join him in persuading Stephen to rpiit 
a hazardous traflic, and either go to the Cape and with 
his brother there establish a house, or else accept Irom 



STEPHEN GIRARD. 499 

his fotlior tlie commaiitl of a shij). .lean docs iiruc this 
veiy .strongly, but, in conclusion, shows how well he 
knows what Stephen's reply will be, Ijy adding, that if 
his l)rother is absolutely resolved to stay where he is, 
he had better consign some vessels to him at once, as he 
is in a position to have them promptl}* dispatched. 
Stephen possibly .sent the vessels, but he had faith and 
saw that under the struggle there was vigor and coming 
prosperity, and he stayed where he was. 

As he grew richer, the Water Street house became 
very comfortable, and if he did not relniild he must 
have altered it thoroughly. He sent to the Isle of 
France for ebony, out of which he had his parlor furni- 
ture made ; he imported handsome Turkey carpets ; the 
French windows opened to the tioor ; the kitchen was 
paved with marble and the water was brought in b}^ 
pipes. In the store-room everything was in abundance : 
sacks of cofiee, boxes of tea, apples, hams, chocolate, 
West-India preserves, so that the table was fully fur- 
nished. Girard himself ate no meat for years, but it was 
regularly on the table, which was set with much solid 
silver. There was ahvays company staying to meals, and 
when distinguished Frenchmen were in the city nothing 
pleased Girard better than giving them a fine dinner — 
and among them often came eloseph Bonaparte. The 
counting-room was under the same roof, and after the 
nieces grew up and lived in the house, the young clerks 
made little errands to the parlor when they knew 
the master w^as out. There was a small French organ 



500 A SYL VA^'' CITY. 



ill tlie room, wliich they would wiiul up. and have 
mail}' a hurried dance when they were supposed to be 
Itusy over their books. The nieces had to l)e on the 
watch to secure their girhsh pleasures. Their uncle wa?^ 
never unkind, but he saw no use in any sort of amuse- 
ment. Everybody in the house, except himself, had to go 
to church, and each to his own. lie provided the pews, 
and the family was expected to occupy them ; but for 
parties and such entertainments he had onl}' contempt, 
At ten o'clock the house was closed, and every one 
sent to bed. But every one did not go to Ijcd. and more 
than once one of llie girls, in her gala dress, slipped softly 
down the stairs and out the door to a cavalier, who took 
her to «»ni' of the ^lately parties of the time ; and then at 
some late hour tiu-re was the waking of the housekeeper, 
and the stealing back again. There was no lack of life 
in the hou>e, and when Girard could get a child into the 
circle, even as a vi>itor, he was very happy. lie liked 
young girls and children and canary birds well, but 
best of all he likrd his farm down in ''The Xeck.'' 
I'^vcry day, in his yellow gig, Girard drovi' down there, 
and tiien took oft* liis coat and went to work. lie 
hoetl and he jtruned, he looked after his IVuil and hi> 
stock, and when his own tal)le was >upi)lii'd he found 
it easy to m'U at a good profit whatever he chose to 
sen<l to market, antl so not only took his relaxation and 
exercise on hi> firm but adtled it to hi> money-making 
ventures. 
In the mid>t of this personal prosperity, and just as 



STEPHEN GIRARD. 



501 



Pliiladelphia was fiiirly ivcovciiiiu fnnu the unsettU'd 
conditions that followed the war, the yellow fever l)roke 
out and desolated the city. Washington, with all his 
otlieials, moved the government ot!ices to Germantown ; 
every one who could tied, and, flying, carried the con- 
tagion into the country places near riiiladelphia. Those 







MODEL OF THK " MOXTESQI'TETT " IX BALCONY RAILING. 

who stayed lived in hourly fear, and hurried through 
Ihe streets like so many monks of La Trappe under 
vows to neither touch nor speak to another fellow-heing. 
From every house where people dwelt came the odors 
of burning tobacco or tar, or some similar substances. 
Churches were closed, the books in the Philadelphia 
Library safely locked up ; there was no brawling at the 
taverns, and people hardly dared to even meet to pray 



502 A SYLVAy CITY. 

together. The death-calls echoed through the silent, 
grass-grown streets, and at niglit the watcher would 
hear at his neighhor's door the cr}-, "Bring out your 
dead !" And the dead were brought ; unwept over, 
uuprayed for, they were wrapped in the sheet in which 
they died, and were hurried into a box and thrown into 
a great pit, rich and poor together. This was in IT'.io, 
and all sunnner the plague raged, until, when Septem- 
ber came, the city lay under the blazing sun as under a 
great curse. Doctors were dead, nurses had broken 
down and gone away; there wxu'e no visitors of the 
poor, and even at the hospital at Bush Hill there was 
no one to receive or care for the victims who were cai-- 
ried there. No one could be hired to go there. Wiiy 
should any one give his life for nothing ? A meeting 
was called, and a few men came together and appointed 
a committee to devise help for the hospital. Stephen 
CJirard was on this committee. He had not only stayed 
in the city but he had given himself up to nursing and 
doctoring. lie went from house to house ; he was never 
too wearied ; he was never disheartened nor disgusted. 
He gave money, and commissioned others to give it for 
him, "except," he said to an old Quaker, "//o« shall 
not give to Frenchmen, because you like them not. 
Y^ou shall send them to me 1" It was only a step farther 
for him to volunteer to go to Bush Hill and take charge. 
And he tlid so. He was there for two months. He 
received the liver patients at the gate ; sometimes he 
went atUr tlani ; he nursed them and never faltered ; 



STEPHEN GIRARD. 



503 



he watched until they breathed tlieir last breath, and 
then, wrappmg them in Avhatever he could find, helped 
carry them out and put 
them in the pit. He was 
then. fort3'-three years 
old, and his family in 
France were terrified at 
what Jean calls, in his 
English, the "riscks" 
he was running. In 
1797 and 1798, Girard 
repeated this experi- 
ence, and again nursed 
and doctored through 
those summers of pesti- 
lence, and lost, he wrote 
to one of his friends, 
but one patient, an 
Irishnmn, who would 
drink liquor. 

And so the years went i'ierre girard' s cross of st. louis. 
on, and the Frenchman prospered, and another chance 
came for him to do another great public work. In 
1811 Girard had a million of dollars to his account in 
the bank of the Barings Brothers. He ordered the 
whole of this spent in buying the stock of the United 
States Bank. This institution had come to the limit 
of its charter, and the stock was greatly depreciated 
in England. Still, Girard bought it, and waited a 




504 A SYLVAN CITY. 

little. The charter expired, the governmeat refused 
to renew it, and then Girard bought the whole affair, 
the building (which still stands on Third Street), the 
paper on which the notes were printed, the stools on 
which the clerks sat ; and so the merchant became a 
banker, and in a moment of national peril, just as we 
were on the eve of war, saved us from a financial crisis. 
It was also one of those splendid business achievements 
that distinguished Girard. He took his money out of 
danger and made a good investment, and when com- 
merce was closing, opened a new business under capital 
conditions. From this moment he was the steady right 
hand of the government. He believed in it, and was 
in a position to assert his belief. In 1816 the new 
United States Bank was established, and stock offered 
at seven per cent, with twenty dollars bonus. The 
people hesitated ; they straggled in, and at last took 
twenty thousand dollars' worth. They were not sure 
about government investments. Girard waited until 
the last day, when he came forward and took all the 
stock — three million one hundred thousand dollars. 
This was his stake, his " risck." 

Of course, both parties made money. The govern- 
ment, backed by Girard's name, tided over the perils in 
its way. and Girard had the benefit of its success. He 
not only knew how and when to make his ventures, but 
once made he looked after them. When he saw fatal 
weakness he took no interest ; yet in the moment of 
danger no one knew better how to run even a sinking 



STEPHEN GIRARD. 505 

craft on shore — but the cargo had to be worth the 
trouble. 

Ill December, 1831, Girard died, an old man nearly 
eighty-two. For some time he had been very infirm, 
and his weakness had been increased by having been 
knocked down by a cart on the street, and having his 
head and face injured. He would not give up to his 
injuries, and even when attacked by the influenza in- 
sisted on his old practice of doctoring himself, until it 
was too late. The day he died he got out of bed and 
walked across the room to a chair, but at once turned 
and went feebly back again. He put his old, thin hand 
on his head and said, "How violent is this disorder!" 
and died. 

There Avas, of course, instant interest in his will, it 
being generally understood that he had left his millions 
for public uses. Through a misapprehension on the 
part of one of his executors in regard to Girard 's 
wishes in relation to his burial place, the will had to 
be read very soon after his death, and so the public 
was soon in possession of the facts. The people whom 
he liked best were the Quakers. He had sympathy with 
their disdain of forms, their shrewd business habits and 
their integrity. In his own dress he was as neat and 
particular as they were, and did not look unlike them. 
His plain coats were made of the best broadcloth ; liis 
underwear, of silk, was imported from China. He kept 
a pair of shoes for each day of the week, and his nieces 
hemmed his square linen cravats by the dozen. The 



506 A STL VAX CITY. 

portrait we give of him i.s from the statue at Girard 
College, which was modeled from a east taken after 
death, and so represents him as an old man. It 
was executed in Italy by Gavelot. at an expense of 
$30,000. and was universally pronounced an excellent 
likeness. 

The time will come when Stephen Girard will be bet- 
ter understood ; and even while he remains the typical 
man of business — allowing nothing to move him from 
his purposes, inflexible, impetuous, never taking back 
his word for good or ill. daring yet cautious, having a 
bniin that governed his heart — he will also have credit 
for his sterling, manly virtues. He was one of the men 
to whom much was committed, and when his time came 
to give it up. he gave it. not as money to make money, 
but to the •• little ones"* with widowed mothers, and for 
the benefit of the city of his adoption. 



[the exd.] 



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IVfcGIrr's 

STATE HOUSE 
BOOK SHOP 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



Mill llil III I III' I I I iilll 

014 314 092 1 




